Happily Ever After
by mynewgenesis
Summary: Ginny Weasley finds herself always dating the wrong type of man; the type who only wants to get into her pants. So she decides never to date that type of man again. She goes for the polar opposite. Draco Malfoy. ON HOLD. Sort of.
1. The Bet

Her date leaned towards her, covering her smaller hand with his own, and smiled at her seductively. "So," he said, his voice low and throaty, "How about we go back to my flat for drinks." He didn't state it as a question; it was phrased as a rhetorical statement. As far as he was concerned, she was a done deal. Her eyes narrowed.

The entire date had been like this- full of thinly veiled expectations and salicious comments-and Ginny, no fool, nor a stranger to lecherous men, was growing tired of it. She _had _hoped that Nicolas might be different from the rest of the idiots she normally went out with, but, alas, he was just the same. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"Your place?" she repeated, sounding doubtful. He missed her tone, and nodded slowly, like she was a bit slow, and added a sly wink for good measure.

"Yeah, you know," he moved his hand slowly up her arm and ran his knuckles against her skin, "_my place."_

"No, I don't know." she said waspishly, pulling her arm and hand back. "And no, I'd like to go home now."

"Aww, cummon, love," he entreated, "Don't leave me hangin'," he raised sorrowful eyes to hers and made to take her hand again. She moved out of the way.

"No, Nicolas. We've been on, what, three dates?"

"Yeah," he said, not understanding.

"Three dates, Nicolas." she slapped his searching hand away. "Stop that." she growled. "Three. I will not sleep with you after only three dates." In fact, she thought, I will not sleep with you after a _thousand _dates!

"So how many more?"

She actually gaped. Was he serious? Her mouth must have opened a little bit in awe, because he grinned at her, shaking his head.

"Love, you can't take and take and not put out a little."

Her previous annoyance blossomed into a dull anger, and when his hand, for the enth time, came looking for her wrist, it blew into full grown rage. She could feel her cheeks starting to glow with the heat of her blood boiling under the surface of her skin, could hear the beating thrum of her heart in her ribs and in her throat, could taste the dry texture of her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

"Take and take," she repeated, her words clipped and low.

"I paid for all our dates." his tone was proud, like he was like a little boy, saying 'See? See? I'm a _big_ boy now!'

"Perhaps, Nicolas," she paused, giving a half laugh, "next time you think you deserve sex from a woman you hardly know, you should explain your expectations in the beginning- before you waste all of your _time _and _money._" She looked him up and down and then leaned in so close that he had a nearly unobstructed view of her chest over the top of her flowy blouse. "Although," she said, making her voice breathy and full of promise, "even if you _had _explained it to me," and she ran her fingers up his arm, raking her nails lightly over his skin, "I probably wouldn't have slept with you anyways."

She stood. "Goodbye, Nicolas," she called over her shoulder, and she turned to walk away.

Nicolas, though, had slightly more brains than she had given him credit for. He stood from their table sharply, knocking over the chair and sending it clattering to the ground in a mess of cocophonic noise, and strode stiffly over to her, grabbing her arm and yanking her to face him. Ginny gasped, with anger and astonishment. Would he really make a scene in public?

She could see that he was angry. Furious even. His skin was mottled and red and the veins in his neck were standing out and throbbing.

"Don't you dare insult me." he snarled. His lips curled over his teeth and his eyes were narrowed. Ginny had thought him handsome to begin with, with his black hair and light eyes and olive complexion, but now, with what she presumed to be his true nature coming to the foreground, she realized that he was quite ugly.

"Or what?" she taunted. "You'll uninvite me to the dance?"

He squeezed her arm tighter. She tried not to grimace. "Let go of my arm."

"You will regret this," he told her dangerously. "When I'm through with you-"

"What? No more bastards will come knocking on my door? Good!" she spat. "That takes care of that problem!" His eyes narrowed to slits.

"Never," he jerked her shoulders and her teeth clacked shut painfully over her tongue, "call me a bastard again." He enunciated each word with another jerk and she tried to stiffen her spine to keep her head from being whipped around like she was a little doll. She scrambled in her pockets and found her wand. She jabbed the tip into his stomach.

"Let go of me," she said, and then he was blown backwards into the table. He flipped over the table, taking the tablecloth, the remnants of their lunch, and the bottle of very expenisve wine he had ordered to impress her with him. The waiter rushed to his side and tried to help him up, but Nicolas batted him away angrily, intent on wringing Ginny's neck. She was sure that no woman had ever treated him like this before. He was Nicolas Dessin, heir to the largest Wizarding shipping company in Europe. Women _flocked _to him. Well, Ginny thought, not this one.

She looked at him with contempt once more before spinning away and apparating back to her flat with a final sounding pop.

***

Draco Malfoy was watching from a tiny patio cafe across the street. Nicolas Dessin was a particularily annoying competitor in his field of buisness, and he had been spying covertly from underneath the great umbrella that spun lazily in the wind over his head, its stem piercing the table he shared with Blaise Zabini, for over an hour.

He couldn't quite place the woman. She was stunning, with scarlet hair and porcelein skin, and a fit, lithe body enveloped by a cute little black dress, but she wasn't Nicolas's usual type-buxom and blonde and dumb-and Draco couldn't figure out why they were together.

Blaise had been good naturedly trying to win him back into conversation for over twenty minutes; but Draco just kept watching the strange woman. Finally, after a one sided conversation about the current state of the Nimbus market, Blaise demanded to know who he was staring at.

"That girl with the red hair. Sitting with Dessin."

"Ginny Weasley?" Blaise raised his eyebrows. "Why are you watching her?"

"Weasley?" his own brows rose. "No, that can't-"

"It's Ginny." he nodded confidently. "Shall I call her over? Looks like she's leaving."

And sure enough, when Draco looked back, she had turned away and was fishing for her wand in her dress pockets. Dessin rose and followed, grabbing her and hauling her roughly back. Draco started to rise in his seat, his gentlemanly instincts kicking in, but arrested himself mid motion when he remembered who she was.

Sure enough, within seconds, Dessin was blown backwards with a reflector hex. He couldn't help it, Draco had to smile. Obviously, Ginny Weasley hadn't changed much.

"You only smile like that when you're interested."

"Interested? Don't be absurd."

Blaise grinned. "It's true. You see a girl, you decide she's attractive, you smile, like that, and then you relentlessly pursue her until you get bored -usually within the month- and then you dump her. And then you see a_ different _girl, and-"

"I get the point,"Draco said, his lips quirking into a good humored smile despite himself. "But I do think you're docking some credit. I have most certainly stayed with one girl for longer than a month."

"Really? Who?" Blaise asked mockingly.

"Well," he struggled, "Rachel?"

"Three weeks."

"Jenise?"

"One week."

"Annabelle?"

"Three weeks," he raised an eyebrow, "and a _half._"

"Are you sure," he refuted, but Blaise leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed behind his head, a position of triumph.

"Yes. You will never ever last with one girl long enough to get heirs."

"You mean get married?"

"Well, if the heirs are to be legitimate, you'd have to be, wouldn't you," he said, as though he were explaining something to a small child.

"I could get married some day," Draco said.

"I bet you won't," Blaise leaned back into the table.

"I bet I will."

"I bet you a thousand pounds that you will never, in this lifetime, get married."

"That's a stupid bet." He looked back over to Weasley, only to notice that she had gone. Blaise noticed his direction, and smiled.

"Fine." his smile turned lethal. "I bet, a thousand pounds, that you will never in this lifetime, get Ginny Weasley to marry you." Draco nearly lost all composure and fell off his chair.

"_Weasley_?" he coughed. "Are you _crazy?_"

"No."

"But, my father, -she's a blood traitor!"

"But she's still a pureblood. He can have no objections there."

That was true, at least, Draco agreed regretfully.

"You can't let this bet slide, Draco." he held his hand out, waiting. "Your mother would love her."

That was also true. Narcissa had always been fond of the more headstrong girls Draco brought home. She had no use for simpletons. He shot his hand out and shook Blaise's hand before he could change his mind. "Done," he said.

Blaise looked surprised, but hid it well. He started to grin like a cat.

***

Ginny sat alone in her flat, staring morosely at the dregs of her tea, wondering why the only men she seemed to be capable of attracting were idiotic dunderheads. Was there something wrong with her? Did she have some sort of sign above her head which was visible only to men that screamed, in flashing letters, 'Easy Woman Here!!'

It wasn't as if she looked for them. She didn't go to sleazy bars, she didn't party. She didn't really even drink that often; only on special occasions. Where did they all come from? They always seemed so wonderful, right up until the first date. Then they would get a little bit less suave, less interested in appearing gentlemanly. More interested in sex.

Perhaps it was Harry's fault. Since his death, she had gone, subconsciously, maybe, for men like him. Tall, dark, handsome, polite, caring- and, apparently, jackasses.

Well, that would have to stop. Starting now. She set her cup down on the table with a clang. No more looking for Harry.

She was going to look for the complete opposite.

A/N: I'm rewriting the whole thing. THis is my new chapter ONe. Review!


	2. A Dance

**A/N: I am rewriting the entire thing in an effort to calibrate both more interest in this story from the general public, and from myself. I've left it for a very long time, working mostly on my much darker fic, Bringer Of Fire, and through working on that, I think that I am much more able to do this story justice now, as I have improved (I feel) in my writing greatly since when I first started this two years ago. I miss working on this, and not having to focus on torture and certain doom, and just writing a generally fluffy story. SO, here I go. Please, please, please review. I swear, if you like it, and you want me to keep going with it, it becomes a helluva lot more likely that I'll finish it when I know somebody is actually enjoying it.**

**Anyways, _enjoy. _**

**-Alex.**

...................

Ginny was still staring at the dregs of her tea when a sharp rap sounded on her window pane. She looked up to see a sleek black owl with uncanny yellow eyes staring at her impatiently through the glass, hammering away on the pane with an annoyed expression when she didn't immediately make to open it. She pushed her way through her unorganized flat and opened the window. The bird thrust a crisp white letter at her, and resumed his staring in stony silence.

She raised her eyebrows at it, but turned back to the letter. It was thick paper- the kind one could only find when a pretty penny was to be spent. Her name was written with ink that shimmered gold so brightly that she had to turn it directly into the sunlight to read it properly.

_Miss Ginevra Weasley, _it read, and her eyebrows rose again. No one but the Ministry ever called her Ginevra; it was too formal, too stiff sounding. No one had called her Ginevra since she was just starting at school and the other students were just learning each others names.

She tore open the envelope and pulled out a postcard sized sheet of embossed paper. The ink, like the envelope, was gold, and the glimmer made it hard to read. She struggled for a moment to figure out what it was saying, and once she had figured it out, struggled to understand why on earth it had been addressed to _her,_ of all people.

_You are cordially invited_

_To Malfoy Manor's_

_479th annual Gala_

_at 7 O'clock, on the Twenty Seventh of June_

_Black Tie_

_Latecomers will be turned away_

_By invitation only, no guests_

_please bring this note to the door._

She stared at the invitation for a long while before coming to the conclusion that the issuer of the note was deficient in some of the more necessary mental faculties. Firstly, the Twenty Seventh of June was today; Secondly, by rote, at least a months notice was usually the norm with such an event, with the exception being less rather than more; Thirdly, it was no small secret that she had been the girlfriend of Harry Potter, and she had made her allegiances quite clear during the war. That she would be invited to a Gala hosted by one of the most illustrious former Death Eaters was preposterous, even though the Malfoy family had recanted some time before the final battle and had been vocal in their opposition of Voldemort in the end. The coldness between the Malfoy family and the Order remained strong and noticeable, and it was widely thought that their purpose in changing sides was that they had seen the futility of staying with the losing side, no more. Personal gain. Very Slytherin.

Even should their political differences be disregarded, there was still the matter of personal dissidence to be considered. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter had been marked enemies in their youth, and that she was invited to Draco Malfoy's family Gala was something to be considered from a distance, held at arms lenght for the time being. Unfortunately, Malfoy had not given her much time to weigh her options with any thoroughness.

Her war experience sat wedged firmly in the back of her mind, screaming with great tenacity that going would most definitely be a mistake. But, truly, the fore of her thoughts were coyly playing with the idea of attending, and from her current vantage point, the outcome didn't look too horrible. Certainly, there would be some awkwardness, slipping into the den of the Death Eaters, or former den, as it was, but she had never been one to back down from a challenge.

And, her subconscious put in mischievously, did she not just make the decision to throw away her past habits and start anew these ten minutes ago? She felt her face break into a smile.

It would be adventurous. It would be completely out of character. It would be- fun? Maybe?

She glanced quickly at the clock hanging above her parlour door. Three thirty. She had _just _enough time to squeeze into Madam Malkin's and find something on short notice, if she hurried.

She scraped her hair into a scruffy pony tail high on her head and grabbed the better of her three coats, and leapt lightly into the floo. She took more powder than she had intended to, and her trip was much faster and entirely more dirty than was absolutely necessary, and she stumbled into the entryway of the shop covered in a thick layer of soot and ash, with tendrils of her hair floating messily around her face. A few of the more snooty patrons snickered behind their hands at her less than statuesque entrance, but their snark soon dissipated when she made her way to the back of the store with her head held high.

At the back of Madam Malkin's store was where the great designers were kept, and where patrons consisted of the richest of the pureblood nobility, the high society darlings, and those with a very important event to dress for. The gowns in the back of the store were expensive and exquisite, and one had to have a fair bit of coin jangling in their purse to even consider heading in that direction.

Ginny had a good deal of extra money of her own waiting to be spent due to some extra credit jobs she had taken on during the summer for her editor, who had been short staffed at the time. It never hurt to splurge a little, she decided as she climbed the ornate stairs that led to the upper level.

The upstairs was obviously catered to the rich. No expense had been spared in the matter of patron comfort. It was a single room, with two great bay windows on each wall, each separated by a thick slab of marble. The windows overlooked London, both muggle and magical, and sun shone directly from one side of the room to the other in the warm afternoon. Plush chairs were strewn around the place, and in the center was a raised platform, where Ginny assumed the fittings took place.

Beside each chair stood an ornate silver platter, stocked with crystal decanters and glasses, and fine china saucers and tea cups. Ginny instantly felt out of place, her upbringing leading her to prefer rugged, mismatched styling and homely accents, complete with signs of loving use in each crack and chip. She ignored her dislike and called out hesitantly, realizing that the closer the sun came back to the horizon, the less time she had to prepare herself.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice sure despite her feelings of awkwardness. Her mother would probably be fussing over each and every piece of china by now, had she been here, her love of all things fancy overriding any sort of compunction to do with societal rules of behavior. Ginny quirked a smile at that thought, and felt suddenly much better.

Almost instantly an older looking woman appeared, having come through one of the windows, fussing with a tape measure and a heavy looking pencil. A tall, willowy blonde woman trailed behind her, struggling with a large clipboard and a quill a good three times the length of a normal one.

"How can we help you, Miss..." her voice, while not being outright demeaning, definitely acknowledged that Ginny was no one of stature or social standing.

"Weasley." Ginny said proudly, and the older woman's eyes widened a tiny bit, but she showed no other sign of surprise. A Weasley hadn't set foot in Madam Malkin's, except for the second hand rack, for over twenty years. Ginny ignored this. "I need an evening gown or two." The woman nodded and clapped her hands twice. Instantly, half of the huge windows flipped themselves over to reveal monstrous closets, each closet holding dresses from a different section of the color wheel.

She swallowed heavily, not entirely sure what she was getting herself into. She had never spent more than ten galleons on clothes at any one time in her entire life.

"On the podium please," the willowy one said, her voice svelte an cultured. Ginny had hardly set foot on the platform when suddenly and inexplicably, she found herself wearing only her underthings. She gasped with the shock of the cool indoor air hitting her skin, but hid it well.

They began to examine her. "Lovely figure," the elder one announced, and the willowy one started to take notes in her clipboard, flipping to a new page every minute or so, scribbling furiously. The elder one continued to speak, as if muttering to herself. "Red hair, lovely, lovely, but of course that rules out yellow. Pale, wonderful complexion, beautiful tone... Brown eyes, freckles, no brown fabric then, no, that would only mute the color... Curves, oh my, what lovely curves...." She went on for a good ten minutes. Ginny managed to take it all in stride until the woman saw fit to mention her 'ample busom', and her 'shapely bum', at which she choked on her breath and earned herself a dubious look from the willowy woman, who obviously intended to communicate that she very much doubted Ginny's ability to become a lady. The elder didn't notice, simply mentioning to Ginny that 'tight waisted dresses' were definitely 'her thing'.

"Alright dear, bring out the blue's and the green's first, then the reds and the blacks. Only darker shades though, if you please." Willow nodded and pointed a slender finger towards a far closet. Out of nowhere, Ginny found herself already slipped into a hideous concoction of blue and green feathers and ruffles. She looked like a peacock. Her facial expression must have conveyed her displeasure, because in another second, the peacock was replaced with a bluebird. On it went; she would gag or shake her head vigorously and then she would find herself in a different dress. The made their way through the entire color wheel, and until they made it to the greys and blacks, they got absolutely nowhere.

But then, two in a row where perfect. A grey dress, and a black dress. In the end, Ginny bought both. The shop ladies charmed them to fit her perfectly, and she was on her way.

.

Back at her flat, she decided to wear the black one to the Malfoy Gala. She felt dark and mysterious, and entirely unlike herself, which was what she was aiming for. It was shockingly risque and showed a great deal of skin, and Ginny almost backpedalled when she saw how different she looked against the backdrop of her own home. In the store it was easy to become someone else and allow her own personality to fade away, but surrounded by her pictures and her personal things, it was sharply contrasted. But she forged on ahead.

The dress was stunning in its simplicity. It had no embellishments, no flare, no great bedazzlement's. It was backless, with the fabric starting just over her 'shapely bum' and draping over her front; all that held it to her chest was two long silver chains forming an 'X' over her back, connecting the shoulder straps to the bottom. The skirt was just as racy, with a slit coming up to her thigh, rippling open when she walked revealing a scarlet colored inner layer.

She had no idea what to do with her hair, so she pulled it into a low pony tail just below her ear, so that the long strands fell over her shoulder to the side of the neckline.

Dark mascara and eyeliner, and she was ready; a femme fatale in the making. She smiled to her reflection, and fairly gaped at herself. She was hardly recognizable. Her mother would have kittens.

At precisely 6:59:43, Ginny stood with her invitation in hand in her small living room, prepared to Apparate. At exactly 6:59:59, she spun, and appeared in the massive foyer of Malfoy Manor at the same instant as a hundred other guests arrived under the great chime of a grandfather clock.

A guard came around to each guest, and after certifying that each invitation was real, he handed each person a small silver ring to signify that they were, indeed, guests, as opposed to extremely well dressed staff. Ginny looked down at her small ring with her lips quirked. If she remembered Malfoy properly, the silver was real, but would disappear after the evening was over. Malfoy's had never been ones for gift giving, unless the recipients were the Ministry, and the outcome was leniency in some format or another. She shook her head and followed the rest of the crowd into the ballroom.

***

Draco looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a God. His white blonde hair fell in delectible waves around his ears and just over the edge of his collar and his black tuxedo fit him perfectly. He looked exactly as a twenty-one year old young man should: virile and strong and sexy.

He looked down at the small, perfect flower in his hand. He had charmed it to retain the pretty spots of dew on the petals, and it would never die, so long as it was kept near a window somewhere. He gently closed his fingers over it, careful not to crush the petals. The stem extended through his fingers.

He looked up to the sound of an opening door. Blaise waltzed into the room, a leggy brunette on his arm and a goofy smile plastered to his face. Draco fought the urge to curse under his breath. This was his night to be a gentleman; such behavior would never do.

"Yes?" he asked in his most authorotative tone.

"Ready? Weasley is here." The brunette looked at Blaise with confusion. Weasley?

Draco looked back at his reflection, and before his eyes his countenance grew sultrier, his mouth a little bit more pouty- in a manly way.

Ginny Weasley wouldn't know what hit her.

***

The ballroom was crowded with the rich and famous. She recognized most, if not all, or the faces from at least one picture or another in the Daily Prophet society section. The nobility were in full attendance, as were the flaky society princesses. She straightened her spine and leveled her shoulders, aware that her back muscles were well formed and placed to advantage in this dress. People parted for her as if she were one of them. It was like a power rush.

She soon noticed however, that she stuck out to a high degree. Where every other woman in the place wore bright colors, mostly pastels, to celebrate the long awaited arrival of summer, she looked like a dark, sultry sorceress. She was mollified, though, when she noticed a few of the men around her start to gape at her, and in one instance, almost drool.

Easily she was showing the most skin. Easily she was the least conservative. But then, she was never going to fit in anyways, her mind reminded her, so why bother? She was sexy. She could feel that. She hadn't felt so comfortable with herself in a long time. She was going to enjoy it. She smiled, and someone to her left somewhere gasped. Some whispered behind their hands.

She was an unknown quantity to them; probably the only new blood for years. She headed to the bar, and was hastily served a cold firewhisky, which she popped open like an old hand. The barman winked at her.

Ginny turned to walk around some more, eager to move away from the glares fastened on her from this corner.

She stepped right into the firm, hard body of a man a good foot taller than her.

"Oh! I'm so sorry- I-"

"Miss Weasley," the man said, in a deep baritone, and she looked up to see the sparkling grey eyes of her host, Draco Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy," she gaped, "I apologize, I didn't see you."

"Not at all, Miss Weasley." he held out his hand palm upwards, and hesitantly, she placed hers into it. It was warm, but as he raised her hand to his lips to brush a light kiss across her knuckles, she felt the most shocking chill shoot through her body, coming from somewhere in her belly.

He turned her hand over, and brought out his other hand, brushing his fingers from the center of her palm as he placed something there. She looked with avid fascination as he unveiled a dainty little daisy, perfectly formed, and pure white with a great yellow sun blinking merrily at her from the center. She couldn't help but smile; daisy's were her favorite.

"A beautiful flower," he said, his voice sending thrills through their connected hands to her heart, which she was sure would fail quite shortly, "for a beautiful woman."

"Thank you," she blushed.

He took the flower from her hand, and with her permission, wove it into her hair behind her ear, fastening it there with a charm. He smiled at her, his grey eyes crinkling.

"Dance with me," he said, and without waiting for her reply, dragged her to the floor.

She liked him already.


	3. Jealous

**Happily Ever After**

**Chapter Three**

If Blaise were to be stuck anywhere, with anyone, for a particularly long period of time, it would only be natural to him to hope that his partner in suffering should be Draco Malfoy. Not because he wished any undue (or 'due', which was more likely) harm on his friend, but because he and Draco had always worked together as a team. It was only fair that they should suffer the same way, as it was more than likely the actions of their team efforts that wouldland them in captivity in the first place.

This natural order of things was well established in Blaise's mind, which was why it was with such envy, annoyance, and barely concealed eye rolling that he watched Draco and Ginny dance. It was not fair that he should be stuck with the dulcet, malicious, and thoroughly awful Druella when Draco got to actually _enjoy_ his evening with Ginny.

The bright-headed witch Draco held in his arms was smiling prettily, her eyes sparkling with mischief and intelligence. Druella, the stunning, albeit wretchedly idiotic brunette beside him, had her lips curled most unattractively over her teeth in a pointless display of disgust and misplaced arrogance. Blaise struggled, for not the first time that evening, not to reach over and wrap his fingers around her scrawny little neck and squeeze for all he was worth. If he could have traded her in for a girl like Ginny, who he knew from a past working relationship to be a cultured, sophisticated woman, who lived happily and without prejudice, he would do so in an instant.

He watched her lips move from across the ballroom and imagined how stimulating her conversation must be in comparison to the sad excuse for polite exchange he was being forced to endure with his date.

_Her_ idea of conversation included snotty remarks about unfortunate fashion choices on the part of other poor females, and blithe remarks about the dreadful state of the Malfoy name, that Draco should be forced to dance with a Weasley at his own party.

Blaise bit his tongue to stop himself from spitting out that he would much rather dance with Weasley than herself.

He could not, however, quite restrain the urge to sigh dramatically, and exhaled a long held and long suffered breath from the pit of his stomach, which, satisfactorily, annoyed his companion. As he watched Draco and Ginny twirl once more around the floor, he smiled.

Druella glared.

***

Draco infused into his dancing much of what Ginny privately thought made up his personality in real life: passion, intensity, and a feral predatory grace which more than hinted at danger.

She wasn't sure what the dance was called. She wasn't even entirely certain that it _was _any one dance in particular. She wasn't an expert, but it seemed like he was simply leading her around with whatever moves struck him at the particular moment. A dip, into a slide, into a light toss, into a twirl, into a spin, into a- oh, goodness. Was that even legal?

A blinding flash flared in her eyes and she realized that she had just had her picture taken while Draco's hand was roving its way up the slit in her dress along her thigh. Draco didn't bat an eyelash.

She supposed that, being him, he was used to having photographers march in to ruin perfect moments.

Perfect moments?

That was the wrong path to follow. Ginny shook her head.

But it was no use trying to clear her mind when Draco Malfoy was twirling her around in such a way that her mind was so gloriously addled that her brain forgot its reasoning in wanting to be clear in the first place.

After a few more moments, the music finally came to a close. Only when Draco had stopped them, somewhere near the center of the floor, did Ginny realize that the rest of the couples had dispersed to the sides of the floor, leaving just the two of them to thoroughly bedazzle the entire crowd. Wondering where, exactly, her senses had fled to, she stared around her with a puzzled expression screwing up her face.

"Miss Weasley?" Draco asked, being far more gallant than she had expected him to be. He held his hand out, having let her go for the moment, leaving her decidedly and unexpectedly cold where his hands had been on her back and waist. Which was ridiculous, as she was otherwise flushed from the exertion.

"Mr. Malfoy," she said politely, ignoring the inane urge to be sarcastic and bowing her head demurely. She didn't really see the point in pretending she was some perfectly behaved society miss, now that she had completely boggled the minds of the _ton _mama's and the stately matrons with both her dress and her completely risqué dancing, but Draco didn't seem like the type of man who would react well to her flippancy. She placed her hand in his and stared blankly when he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. He truly was a mystery.

She cast about for something to say, but only came up with drivel.

"We've gathered a crowd," she said, feeling instantly stupid for pointing out something so obvious. She may as well have commented on the weather, or the size of the room, or the number of couples. He nodded, as was polite, and she couldn't help but feel like he was laughing at her inadequacies. She clenched her teeth.

"I would like some Firewhisky," she said suddenly, blurting out her favorite drink without thinking. Firewhisky? Hard alcohol at a party where only fine wines and fruity spirits would be served? Goodness, she really was a mess. Draco, to his credit, barely widened his eyes before smiling indulgently at her.

"Firewhisky? I will see to it. Come with me." He turned and half drug her to the bar, where he whispered a few words to the bartender, who grinned toothily at Ginny and stepped into the back room. He emerged a few seconds later with a freshly popped bottle of still smoking Firewhisky.

"Good choice, miss. If you don't mind me saying," he winked at her, "it's high time more ladies started experimenting a little 'sides Margarita's and prissy little drinks."

Suddenly the drink in her hand seemed more like a necessity, rather than just a craving. She took a long drink, ignoring the look of pure amusement plastered across Draco's face as he watched her. It was growing extremely tiresome, knowing that his eyes were on her every second. She had just started her second wind when he tapped her elbow sharply. She lowered the bottle from her lips to see Blaise and a coldly superior looking date standing a few feet from her, watching her expectantly.

"Hello, Miss Weasley," Blaise said, his charming grin in full force. Ginny couldn't help smiling back. Blaise had always been kind to her, even in school. It had been a mystery to her why he would choose Draco as a friend. He was so sweet and devilishly handsome and such a charmer.

"Oh, call me Ginny, please. Especially after working together for so long-," she faltered, realizing just how rude it was that she should give Blaise permission to use her given name when Draco was standing right beside her, and she had not yet offered the honor to him. "And you as well, Mr. Malfoy," she said quickly.

"So is it true you dated Harry Potter?" Blaise's date interrupted, just as Draco opened his mouth. Ginny was taken aback, seeing the outright contempt and challenge in the woman's eyes. She raised an eyebrow, determined not to make a fool of herself.

"I did." She said, her voice strong. She wasn't ashamed, even in present company. She had loved Harry; did still. She still missed him every day. This stupid bimbo wasn't going to make her say different.

"Then what are you doing here? You have no business in proper society, coming from the mud you do." Her flinty eyes shot venom with every word, and Ginny was once again reminded just where she was.

Ginny's father had once told her that she would not be like the other children she played with. She wouldn't be allowed to see some of them once they started school. They would be separated forever. And her friends were wizards and witches, just like her. She had asked why, and her father hadn't been able to answer her. He didn't know.

Through her school years, she had eventually figured out for herself that hatred clouded the judgment of those too weak to see through it. She learned through trial and error who would accept her, and who would scorn her. She had always counted Draco amongst those who would scorn her. Maybe she still did; she certainly didn't fully trust him yet.

Some people, she found, were like snakes. They would slither around you, round and round, until you thought you knew them completely and utterly, and then, out of nowhere, their real skins would come to light. Prejudice, and hatred, all consuming and blinding.

And others, like Blaise's date, felt no need to conceal their feelings. Ginny was dirt to them. She was nothing. Superiority and a false sense of achievement would trump all reason, and even though Ginny was personally invited by Draco Malfoy, the Dark Prince himself, she was still no more than a common tramp, no matter what her true actions were.

It was these who were impossible to deal with. Anything she would say would be turned against her, twisted, or ignored completely. No matter that every bone in her body was crying for her to exact vengeance, magical means or no, she clenched her fists and neatly arranged her face into an expression of polite disinterest and blithe airiness.

"You don't belong here," the woman said, sensing victory. Blaise and Draco were too shocked to say anything. Ginny allowed herself a small smile.

"I know. I wore too much black." She turned her smile into a self-deprecating grin, cheekily motioning to her dress.

"So you fancy yourself a wit, then."

"Never," Ginny said, tilting her head to the side. "Just stunningly attractive." She flashed another smile. Draco looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

"Vanity is a deadly sin," the other woman pointed out.

"Yes, well," Ginny pointedly looked the woman up and down, from her stick thin legs to her twiggy arms, "So is gluttony."

The woman colored and shrieked, before grabbing Blaise's arm and hauling him away in a frustrated rage. He looked back at Ginny apologetically, and she smiled ruefully back at him. It would be nice to have coffee with him some day. He was a nice man.

"There's something different about you," Draco said, somewhere to her left, "and I can't quite put my finger on it."

"You actually remember me from school?" She turned to him, surprised.

"Not really. Skinny little thing with bright carroty hair and freckles like nothing I'd ever seen." She glared. "Which is definitely _not _how I would describe you now, mind you."

She eyed him with annoyance. "Well, what is it then?"

"I don't know." He reached out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "But I think it's a good thing."

"Good. Well, I'll leave you to puzzle it out." She started to leave, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Wait, Ginny. Have dinner with me tomorrow night." She liked the way he said her name, like he was tasting the letters as well as forming the word in his mouth.

"I-"

"Please?" She was sure that he said 'please' almost as often as he said 'I'm sorry'. She nodded slowly, not really sure why it seemed like a good idea.

"I will send you an owl in the morning. Goodnight, Ginny." He kissed her knuckles again and turned and stalked into the crowd, leaving her with only her Firewhisky and a very confused heart beat.

"or the size of the room, or the number of couples." – A loose reference to Pride and Prejudice, by the brilliant Jane Austen.


	4. Backlash

The next morning she woke slowly, savouring the warm cocoon of her duvet and mattress, unwilling to break the tenuous hold of her dreams completely.

She had dreamed of him, not in any way that gave him preference in her life, but it was enough that he had made an appearance in the night at all. She didn't usually entertain any mere acquaintances in her dreams, usually casting only her closest friends and family as anything to do with anything in particular. But last night, she had dreamed of an adventurous life involving Draco Malfoy, herself, and a rather vocal group of choir members aboard a ship entitled _Her Majesty Bubotuber_.

It was hard to take such a dream seriously, but sailing on the high seas with a man as dashing and – she suspected – dangerous was nothing to turn ones nose up at. It was a delightful escape, and she was sorely tempted to skip waking up all together and get back to robbing and pillaging poor villages. But, alas, there was the matter of work to attend to, and she could put off getting out of bed no longer.

Sleepily she tossed her covers aside and padded into her cozy little kitchen, noting that she had already slept in a good half hour. It was half seven and she needed to be ready to leave her flat by half eight. Groaning, she turned on the muggle coffee pot Hermione had given her as a birthday present the year before and waved her wand in the direction of the bathroom, turning on the shower.

Outside her kitchen window was a small owl, staring at her with beady eyes intently through the pane, the morning paper in its beak. She opened the drawer nearest the oven and grabbed the necessary change and made the exchange, waving the owl off with a sleepily mumbled 'byeee...'

Her sleepy mood lasted no longer than it took for her eyes to register the headline on the front page.

_**Unnamed Witch Snares Malfoy Heir**_

Beneath the delightfully attention grabbing headline was a half page sized black and white picture of she and Draco during a rather more intense part of their dance, in which his hands were nearly at the point of her knickers and her hands were roughly – well, all over him.

Just looking at it brought an intensely red flush to her cheeks. Good Lord, had she really done that? She cast her mind desperately to the night before, trying to find some moment where she had been bewitched or jinxed so that she would at least have the excuse of being befuddled. She found nothing, and groaned into her hand. Her family would have her guts for breakfast.

On the other hand, this did rather cement her newfound plan to mingle with a different crowd. Writing for a magazine classed as 'gossip rag', she could well imagine just what sort of position this would place her in. She would be the toast of London in about a day and a half and she would be invited to all sorts of parties, regardless that she had danced but one dance with Draco Malfoy and that she really didn't know him.

Come to think of it, it was rather curious that her boss hadn't called her demanding to know why her picture was pasted across the front of the morning newspaper. But then, as she looked at it, she realized that she was rather hidden, and that it was a tad difficult to discern her features through the haze of her flyaway hair and her constant ducking beneath Draco's head. She supposed it was understandable that no one had guessed it was her yet. But that wouldn't last long.

Even in black and white her particular shade of red hair was rather distinguishable, and it wouldn't be very long before people put two and two together and realized that it was a Weasley dancing with the Malfoy heir, and after realizing that, she would be the only possible candidate, as she was the only female Weasley – besides her mother, but Ginny liked to think that her figure was at least noticeably more trim than that her of Molly Weasley.

Her family would probably figure it out quicker than the rest, which meant that she had precious little time to –

"Ginny!"

Hide. Her front door slammed shut as her brother made his way noisily into her apartment.

"Ginny! Look at this!"

Ron. Come to harangue her, of course.

"Ginny, are you listening? Where are you – oh. There you are." He stumbled into her kitchen. He had a copy of the newspaper in his hand and upon seeing her he strode to the table and slapped his copy down face up directly beside her own. "Oh, you've already got one. Well, look here."

He jabbed a finger at the moving picture. Ginny tried not to look too uncomfortable.

"Fred and George reckon that might be you. 'Course I told them that was bollocks, but they bet me a galleon that it _is_ you. Aint that a laugh? 'Course it isn't you, like you would dance with Draco sodding Malfoy, ay?"

He noticed that she had yet to reply and prodded her shoulder impatiently. "Ginny? You listening? Go ahead, it's not you, am I right?"

Very slowly and very deliberately she shook her head.

"See! See I told 'em," he faltered. "No it isn't you, or no I'm not right and it _is _you?"

"No," Ginny said, hiding a small smile behind her hair. "It is me."

His hand grabbed her shoulder and whipped her around in his seat so that she was facing him, his face inches from hers and turning mottled red with anger and disgust.

"WHAT?" he hollered at her, tiny bits of spittle hitting her face. She pushed him back.

"Oh, shut up Ron. It's not like you've never seen me dance before."

"With Draco _sodding _Malfoy!?" he yelled again. Ginny noted with detached interest that she hadn't seen him quite this angry in some time. For some reason she doubted it was over the lost galleon.

"Why the bloody hell would you dance with Malfoy!"

Ginny hid a smile again. "Because he asked me to," she said.

"Well you didn't have to say bloody 'yes'! Why'd you say yes? Were there no other blokes asking?"

"I said yes because he asked me, Ronald. I can dance with whomever I please." She grinned before adding, "and it was _his _party, I couldn't very well refuse my host, now could I?"

"Why were you at his party to begin with?!" he demanded, still spraying spittle at her. She wiped her face with her pyjama sleeve. When he was in a better mood she would have to talk to him about this. Poor hygiene was no one's friend.

She grinned again. "Because he invited me."

He howled with rage.

He looked quite at a loss, twisting his hands and running them through his hair in frustrated agitation. He glanced back at the picture for something else to rail about. He found another thing.

"What the hell were you wearing? And why is Malfoy's sodding hand up your sodding dress for the whole world to see! You look like some sort of scarlet woman, letting him feel you up and touch your – your -," he shut up then, too embarrassed to continue.

"Knickers?" she finished for him, still smiling. Ron was not amused. She sighed. "Ron, you know I love you, but seriously. How old am I? I don't need you to be yelling at me for everything I do. I'm twenty years old. Shut up. I can do what I want."

Ron twisted his hands angrily again. "Mum's gonna kill me." He whispered in defeat.

"Mum's not going to kill you. She'll faint with happiness. I'm in the arms of London's richest bachelor. But Dad – he might kill you." She saluted him mockingly. "Good luck."

"Oh My God, Ginny," he gulped. "Please don't do it again. Say you're sick next time. Puke on him, something, anything! Don't do it!"

"Sorry, Ron, I've already agreed to have supper with him tonight." He looked green.

"I have to go." He whispered faintly. He scrambled out of the kitchen and a second later she heard her front door slam shut. Shaking her head happily she wondered how the rest of her family would cope. At that thought she set her wards to block anyone from entering her flat and went to have she shower she sorely needed.

***

Draco sat in his study staring at his copy of the newspaper with a rakish grin spread across his face. Ginny Weasley, the little spitfire. She looked as delicious on paper as she had looked in his arms. Her face flushed and her hair wild and everywhere. He couldn't help but smile.

The headline was a little bit grasping, and completely incorrect, and it was definitely not his first time making the front page, but this was absolutely something he would treasure. If he were that sort of man he would frame the page and put it on his wall, but as it were, his father would hang him if he did, and so he would settle for preserving a copy in a nice file folder and keeping it in his desk to pull out and stare at every now and then, when the mood struck him.

She was an absolutely perfect woman, apart from one or two odd little tendencies, and Draco was proud to have shared a dance with her. It didn't hurt that Blaise had confided later that he was indescribably jealous, and he'd truly hated Draco all night for having had the pleasure of Ginny's company. Draco smirked. He would have hated himself if he'd been Druella's date too.

Silly woman.

He leaned back in his leather wingback chair and stretched his long legs out under the desk, happily lost in his reminiscing from the night before. He was interrupted before long by a squeaky voice.

"Master Malfoy, Lord Malfoy wishes to speak with you." Draco looked to the ground beside him and saw the green, scaly ears of his house elf, Blonky.

Draco nodded his assent regretfully and shoved his paper inside his desk drawer. He needn't have bothered trying to hide it. When Lucius marched in a few seconds later, his robes billowing around him like an angry inferno, he had his own copy of the paper in his hands. He slapped it down on the desk surface in front of Draco, unfolding it in jerky, angry motions for Draco to see. Draco pretended to study it, all the while trying to come up with some excuse for the photo in his head.

"What is this," his father snarled, reverting to a position of rigid straightness in front of the desk, his hands crossed over his chest. Draco paused for a moment, pretending to weigh his answer.

"It's a dance, sir. The paper blew it out of proportion," he let a hint of sneering arrogance taint his voice, "as _usual._"

"I can see that it's a dance. It's disgraceful. I raised you better than to dirty yourself with such filth. What was she doing here?"

"Blaise brought her," Draco said quickly. Blaise wouldn't mind, and he deserved it for getting Draco into this messy 'bet' business anyways.

"Blaise." Lucius's lip curled. "He should know better as well." He leaned in again, moving his hands to brace himself against the desk. "But that still doesn't explain why you would dance with her."

"She was attractive, and she could dance." Draco said, his usual affectation of superiority in his tone. "It was nothing."

Lucius swiped the paper from the desktop and gave Draco one last glare. "See that it stays '_nothing',_" he said, and he quit the room.

Draco rolled his eyes and quickly pulled his copy back out from the drawer. After staring at it for another twenty minutes, he grabbed some parchment and his special quill that made his words sparkle silvery green, he wrote a short note. His eagle owl, Lucifer, carried it off, and Draco returned to looking at the picture. Just another day at work.

***

She recognized Draco's owl when she got out of the shower. It had a small package tied to its leg and a note in its beak. She opened the note first.

'_My dear Miss Weasley;_

_I hope this note finds you well. I wish to reextend my invitation to supper tonight. I have made reservations at 'The Rose Garden', you may have heard of it. Should you wish to accompany me, please don't hesitate to let me know. Wear the gift. I believe it will suit you._

_With the warmest regards,_

_Lord Draco Malfoy,_

_Heir of Malfoy,_

_CEO Malfoy co.,_

_London's most eligible bachelor,_

_Witch Weekly's Wishes most Wonderful Smile winner,_

_Supper Companion Extraordinaire,_

_Rake.'_

She stared uncomprehendingly for a moment, before realizing that he was being funny. Or at least attempting. She shook her head, a wry grin on her lips. Obviously, Draco Malfoy, Lord of London, didn't know Ginny Weasley very well.

She opened the gift next.

It was a tiny pendant, a sterling silver snake wound around a perfectly formed crystal rose, with tiny little green gemstone eyes (real, she would bet money on it), and a long silver chain included.

It was such a blatant insult to her Gryffindor pride it ended up being more humorous than insulting. She put it on, shaking her head. Draco Malfoy was incorrigible.

She scribbled back a note and sent it off with her old barn owl.

***

'_My Dear Mr. (Lord?) Malfoy;_

_Your note found me very well, as I am pleased to report. Please, sir, did I not give you permission last night to use my given name? Please call me Ginny._

_I whole heartedly accept your invitation. I will wear the gift, though I must admit, I wonder how you managed to pick it out? Was it the result of some dastardly intuition, or was it the fault of the sales clerk that a Gryffindor managed to end up with a Slytherin symbol round her neck? Don't misunderstand me, the gift is beautiful, but I must wonder where on earth the idea came from. _

_With absolute affection,_

_Ginny Weasley,_

_Princess of 24 Grindrod Place,_

_Lady of Dream Homes,_

_CEO of Imagination inc.,_

_Majesty of all that applies,_

_Fair Damsel,_

_Etc, etc.'_

***

She had just slipped her new sundress on when her ward buzzer rung, bringing a tiny butterfly with a ribbon banner bearing the name 'Draco Malfoy' in front of her nose.

"Coming!" she called.

When she opened the door, Draco Malfoy held out a single Daisy, and Ginny took it and placed it with the one he had given her the night before, which was sitting on the windowsill in her little kitchen.

When they Apparated to the restaurant, Ginny clutching Draco's arm a mite more than was strictly necessary, they were greeted by blinding camera flashes in every direction.


	5. Reparte

Draco wrapped his fingers around her upper arms, steering her to the door. She focused on the ground, the only place left free of blinding light, her eyes burning.

"Mr. Malfoy! Mr. Malfoy!" A particularly slimy looking reporter pushed his way through the crowd and jabbed his wand in Draco's face. Draco shrugged off his jacket with speed and covered Ginny's face before she even realized what was happening. "Can you answer a few questions?"

"No." Draco said shortly. From beneath the jacket Ginny wondered how much further along the path the doorway could possibly be.

"Mr. Malfoy! Can you tell us who your friend is?"

"Dumbledore." he said. Ginny snorted.

"Why so secretive?" Another voice yelled. "Is there a wedding in the works?"

Draco didn't say anything to that, just grunted with annoyance.

Finally, Ginny's feet found a doormat, and they were ushered inside the building. As soon as the door was closed behind them she ripped the jacket from her head.

"What the hell was that, Draco?" she demanded.

"What?"

"How did they know we would be coming here?" She faced him solidly, her hands on her hips and her feet shoulder width apart.

"I don't have any idea. They must do the same to anyone who comes here."

"Don't lie to me." She poked his chest for emphasis with each word.

"Ginny, this is The Rose Garden. I am entirely sure at least one of them is hiding in the bushes twenty four hours a day." He turned to the gentleman who had ushered them through the door. "Right?"

"I – er, well – they," the gentleman looked uncomfortable, and was clearly a very poor liar. "Right," he agreed abruptly, when Draco raised an eyebrow.

"You told them we would be here, didn't you." Draco said nothing, but Ginny noticed with interest that the very tips of his ears turned a faint shade of pink. "Didn't you?" she repeated, triumphant.

"I would never dishonour you that way --,"he began, but Ginny laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous. You might be more polite these days, but you're definitely not a saint." He opened his mouth but she cut him off again. "I'm not stupid, you know. That was very low."

He had the grace to look slightly abashed, but Ginny got the feeling that his discomfort was the most she was going to get out of him. Apologies were clearly not in the cards, nor were confessions. She then realized that they had aired their argument in front of the clearly uncomfortable host.

"I'm so sorry," she said, turning to the other man, "I assume we have a reservation?"

He cleared his throat. "Yes, ma'am. This way, please." As they were weaving through the tables he spoke over his shoulder to Draco. "We have your usual booth reserved for you in the back."

Draco nodded his thanks.

Their booth was obscured by thick red velvet drapes, a round table with heavy black cushions and gold leaf designs on the table surface. Their host pulled a golden tasselled rope and the drape closed around them, completely blocking the noise and view of other patrons. They were effectively in their own world.

For a moment the awkward silence was overwhelming. Draco filled it by picking up the elaborate quill which rested in the center of the table and scrawling in his elegant hand, without the use of ink, on a particularly large circle of gold leaf on the surface. He scratched some unintelligible words – at least, when they were upside down to Ginny – and they then quickly disappeared as the gold leaf swirled and covered them over.

A second later the golden circle turned into a portal of sorts and a bottle of very old, very expensive looking wine rose through, somewhat reminiscent of the tables at Hogwarts. Two wine glasses soon followed.

He deftly poured her half a glass.

"No Firewhisky?" she teased. He looked horrified, not quite catching her tone.

"Firewhisky? At The Rose Garden? I should think not," he said swiftly, pouring himself a glass. Ginny laughed into her cup.

"I was only joking, Draco." He looked abruptly embarrassed.

"I see." He searched for something to say. His eyes latched upon the pendant. "I see you wore my gift."

She looked down at it, fingering it a little. "Yes," she said. "I got you something as well." His facial expression was the picture of surprise. She reached into her bag, pulling out a small box. She slid it across the table to him.

He opened it a raised his eyebrows. "Oh – Ginny, well – thank you. I think." He pulled out a small lion pin, colored a bright, obnoxious red.

"I expect you to wear it," she added unnecessarily. He choked back a laugh.

"I'm sure you do," he murmured. He looked up at her entreatingly. "Must I?" He looked so petulant she had to smile. "Only for tonight," she told him.

She folded her hands on the table. "So," she said. "What now?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, what do you normally do on a date?" Ginny asked. Truly, she was curious.

"Snog."

She choked. "Thrilling." He had such an expression of boyish pride that she laughed.

"Well, what about you? What do you normally do?" He leaned in. "What do you do on a first date."

"Evade amorous advances and cause bodily harm," she said readily.

"Interesting. I believe I was witness to such a date a few days ago." He leaned back in his seat.

"You were?"

"Yes, Nicolas Dessin."

At Nicolas's name she pulled a face. "Oh. He deserved it."

"Why?"

"He was of the opinion that since he'd paid for three dates he was entitled to sleep with me."

"Really?"

"I hope you and he are not of like minds."

"Not at all. I reserve my demands for at least the fourth date," his voice holding all the worldly air of a twenty year old aristocrat. It was a moment before she realized he was joking.

"Really? I would have pegged you as a more 'get-her-drunk-and-then-coerce-her' kind of guy."

"Not at all. But if women cannot resist the power of my sex appeal, who am I to turn them down?"

"You're a pig."

"That may be, but I am a rich, attractive, well dressed pig. Can I really help myself?"

Ginny scoffed. "Human decency is on sale this week at Madame Treussau's. Perhaps you should look into it."

"Really? How much?"

"Ninety-nine per cent off. I bet you could afford it."

"Perhaps. But not all sales are worth it."

"This one is," Ginny said shortly.

Draco laughed. Then the food came. They ate largely uninterrupted by speech until they were nearly finished.

"Why didn't you ever marry Harry Potter?" Draco asked her suddenly. She nearly choked on her bite of crab.

"What?"

"I'm curious."

"Oh." she thought for a moment. "Well, the war sort of interrupted our plans. And then – well, he died before we had the chance."

"But you loved him?"

"Yes," she said, smiling at the memory. "Yes, I did."

"And you miss him?"

"Every day." She cleared her throat. "But Harry was never one for letting sadness run his life. I try to do the same."

"He was a good man," Draco said, surprising her. She looked at him and saw no judgement in his eyes, only a strange warmth and empathy. She smiled again.

"Yes, he was, wasn't he."

"To Harry," he raised his glass. "The biggest bespectacled git there ever was."

Ginny giggled, realizing that his tone held no meanness.

"To Harry," she agreed.

They said nothing for a while after, no sound but the clinking of cutlery against the plates.

"Why did you never marry Pansy?"

Draco gagged.

"Were you two not an item?"

He choked.

"No?"

He shook his head furiously.

"I see." she said.

"She forced her attentions upon me for six long, long years. I threw myself a party when she gave up on me and started going with Montague."

Ginny smiled into her hand, trying desperately to keep from laughing at him, he looked so incredibly pathetic at the memory.

"So what else don't I know about you."

"A great many things, I am sure. Where to begin?"

"Well, are your family really all blood supremacists, or is that just rumors?"

He looked at her curiously before deciding that her tone was light, and that she was not being rude. "No. All but two of us are blood supremacists."

"Really? And those two would be..."

"Myself and my great Uncle Alfred."

"Of course."

"Say, are you from that Weasley family? What child are you, twenty three?"

She shook her head. "Seven. Hush."

"Well, still. That _is _impressive."

They conversed with great feeling and humour for the rest of the evening, their inhibitions all but forgotten, comfortable and resembling friends more and more.

They may not have been very similar, but the fact that they were no longer strangers was enough for Ginny to feel comfortable.

She even – almost – forgot that he had set the paparazzi on her. She went to bed that night dreaming of handsome, sneaky blonde bastards.


	6. Daisies

**A/N: This is the re-written Chapter Six. Enjoy!**

Two days later, Ginny was back at work, scribbling her last assignment of the week, a report on the Bulstrode Ball, which by all reports, had Bombed. With a capital B. And probably a few exclamation points. Her current headline was, predictably, even for Ginny, "Bulstrode Ball Bombed!!!"

She had not been invited, which was perfectly fine with her, as the Bombing part had come in when someone had engorged the punch bowl contents to the extent that there was a giant blob of punch restrained only by the combined efforts of no less than six ex-death eaters. Their efforts allowed for most of the guests to evacuate, but one slime-ball spawn of evil decided that it was his turn to instigate some terror and mass-panic, and while no one was looking, he poked a hole in the large bubble of raspberry flavored juice, and watched with obvious glee as the thing exploded and set loose a tidal wave (and Ginny wasn't kidding; if her source was to be believed – the tidal wave was by all reports at least fifteen feet tall) which managed to wipe out the entire first floor and part of the second in Bulstrode Manor, as well as ruining thirty four heirloom ballgowns, a masterpiece painting by some 'Van Goo' fellow, and terrorize the three hundred and seventy seven guests who had actually bothered to show up.

Ginny rather wished that the ball had been less of a disaster, because it was quite a bit more work for her (although much more entertainment) watching the pensieve of her contact (she hadn't been invited, of course) as Busltrode Manor was overtaken by sticky, pink juice. Then she had to write the whole thing out, and make it seem like it was a credible story and not just a waste of space and a trule horrid example of 'Shadenfreude'.

When she glanced at the clock, after hurriedly cramping her closing paragraph into an inch of parchment, she cursed violently. It was ten minutes to five – her family dinner was starting at five thirty. At the rate she was going, she wouldn't have time to change, and she hated going to her parent's house in her office clothes. She thought she looked quite nice, but her family always accused her of looking 'uppity' and said she looked like a 'scarlet woman'. Her mother usually just looked at her doubtfully and asked after a moment of stifling silence if Ginny didn't think she might settle down and have a family soon?

Ginny grumbled. As if she could juggle supporting herself, a deadbeat husband, AND some snotty children. Not that she didn't like children – oh, she liked them just fine, the swotty brats – she just didn't want any of her own, just yet.

Just as she folded up her parchment and stuffed it in the chute that would send it directly to her boss for editing, she heard a knock on her door.

"Come in," she said, entirely un-thrilled.

It was Ron.

"Hello, Ron," she said, even less happy. If he was coming to waste more of her time -

"Ginny, I need to talk to you, about Malfoy -"

- he was. "No," she said shortly, feeling peevish.

"What?" he blinked at her, his bright blue eyes strangely owlish in the dim light of her dingy office.

"No. No – no, no." She peered at him from behind her stack of files. "No?"

"But -"

"No."

"But I-"

"No?"

"I just-"

"Ah!"

"Huh?"

"Ahah!" she crowed.

He stared at her. "I forget what I wanted to say."

Ginny grinned widely, and whipped up a hard, uncomfortable chair for Ron to sit in while she finished clearing her desk of unnecessary papers and poorly written articles.

He fidgeted, drumming his hands on the armrests and making annoying noises with his tongue against his teeth. He fingered some of the knickknacks on her bookshelf, dropping a copper ball and knocking over a picture of her shaking hands with Anna Wintour, the editor of Vogue. She didn't particularly like Anna Wintour, or Vogue, as she found both to be distasteful and distant from regular people like herself, but she was a great fan of fashion and liked to tell herself that one day it would be Anna Wintour shaking _her _hand.

She glanced back at the shelf and noticed that Ron was getting closer to seeing the newspaper cutout of she and Malfoy dancing which she had framed and put on her shelf as a sort of joke with herself the day before. She pulled out her wand as slowly as she could without drawing attention to herself and was about to cast an illusionment charm on the photo so that he wouldn't remember what it was he'd forgotten, but Ron was too quick for her that day and grabbed it from the shelf as soon as she opened her mouth.

"You FRAMED IT?" he demanded hotly, shoving his finger at it. Her picture-self and the black and white Draco jumped apart in shock, glaring at Ron's grubby finger with loathing. Ginny groaned.

"So?"

"You FRAMED IT!"

"Yes."

"WHY -"

"No." She interrupted.

"Ginny-"

"No."

"GINNY!"

"N-"

"Don't you dare think you can get away with that twice!"

"Dammit," she said. He leaped out of his chair and made to throw the picture in the garbage beside her desk.

"Oh, no you don't!" she said, and she lunged around her desk to grab for it, but Ron was taller and simply held it over his head.

"Give it back!"

"Absolutely not!" Ron glared at her. She could see up his nose and quite honestly wanted to vomit.

"Roooon!" she whined, pretending to give up.

"Nooooo," he mocked her, still holding it high in the air.

She grinned at him with her scariest smile, showing a good portion of her teeth, and wound up her fist before sucker punching him in the groin. He doubled over, gasping, the photo frame all but forgotten in his probably incredible haze of pain, and Ginny snatched it out of his hand with a hoot of laughter. Her mother had always told her not to play dirty and go for a boy's weak spot, but Ginny rather thought that her mother underestimated the callous cruelty that sometimes nested in her daughter's body. Ginny returned to her desk and stuffed the picture in her purse, donning her light jacket and her showy and entirely useless gloves which offered no warmth at all, but looked good with her outfit. When she turned around and Ron was still clutching his nether regions and groaning on the floor, she grumbled.

"Oh, shut up," she muttered, and cast a handy pain relieving spell on him. Abruptly, he was standing and shouting at her. She put a _silencio _on him and carried on her way out of her office, flicking off the lights and allowing Ron to trail furiously after her, mouthing obscenities and trying furiously to speak the non verbal spell which would restore his voice to him. She hoped he'd never be able to master non verbal sorcery – he was much more fun silent.

***

Draco was in an extremely boring meeting. He sat there idly, drumming his fingers on the oak table, counting down the seconds 'till the clockchimed five, when he would be released from his hellish captivity. The meeting was a mundane discussion of which branch of the company should be sold – a completely unnecessary waste of time, since this particular company was so far beyond rescuing that in Draco's opinion, the whole thing needed to be either re-worked or shut down.

The other members would reach the best conclusion and inform him later. His presence was merely decoration. Unless the conclusion they reached was so blatantly idiotic that he could not in his good conscience allow it, he usually just sat there, pretending to give a damn. This company was a gift from his late grandfather, a business venture that Draco had no interest in and never would. He quite honestly did not care. The only reason he let it continue festering and rotting from the inside out was because there were plenty of good, hardworking employee's that depended on the income, and Draco didn't want to leave them out in the cold.

When the meeting finally dwindled to an end and he was free once more (an entire five minutes ahead of schedule), he leapt to his feet and strode out of the room before anyone could ask him his thoughts, of which he had too many to list, and most of which were rude and based on his utter loathing of the other board members.

He turned the corner and saw the youngest Weasley and her oafish excuse for a brother enter the elevator. Quickly hurrying to catch them before the doors closed, he rammed his hand between the doors and waited until they reopened to admit him. Ginny was shocked to see him, and Ron looked as red and blundering as usual, though quieter than Draco would have expected. Draco appraised him with the same silence and wondered why he was there. As far as he knew, Ron didn't have a job, unless one counted flying aimlessly around a homemade pitch and waiting for the day he would be recruited by a professional Quidditch team as a job.

"Hello Ginny," he said, smiling at her as he admired the lovely figure she made in her navy blue sailor jacket and her pretty white gloves. She had done something different with her hair today, flipping it somehow. She looked delicious, and very classy.

"Hello,"--she looked at Ron warily-- "Draco, how are you?"

"Very well, yourself?" He winked at her.

"I'm wonderful, Draco," she told him, her cinnamon eyes twinkling as she glanced at Ron and back to him. "What are you doing today? I don't often see you here."

"Oh, I was just coming home from a business meeting. A horribly boring one, too." He smiled, and glanced at Ron, who was looking green and making like he was mouthing words and choking at the same time. "Is he okay?" he asked, turning back to Ginny. She looked at her brother.

"He's fine. He just can't hold his – er, tongue."

Draco raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything.

"Anyways," Ginny said, "We're just going to a family dinner. You know, one of those noisy, messy, annoyingly filling dinners with food fights and the lot."

"No, I wouldn't know. I've never been to one." He smiled again, somewhat ruefully.

"What?" she asked, truly dumbfounded. Her twinkly eyes dimmed at the thought. "Oh, dear. You've quite missed out." she told him. Draco could see her mind whirling and watched Ron turn greener and greener, mouthing frantically and reaching to grab Ginny before it was too late.

"Draco, you should come tonight. I'm sure my mother would really love to have an exra mouth to feed."

"Oh, no, I couldn't impose. You go ahead, enjoy yourself. I'm sure the elves have prepared something for me already."

"The elves? Don't you eat home cooked meals?"

"Who's to cook it? My mother? Narcissa Malfoy does not cook." He grinned again.

"Oh, Draco, you must come for dinner. You need to experience one. Truly." Draco watched her lips as she spoke, and then instantly regretted it, for they were soft and peachy and delectable on her face, small pillows of softness in a creamy complexion he just wanted to touch and run his fingers across and -

"What?" he asked, suddenly lost. Ron was shaking in the corner, with either fury or sickness Draco couldn't tell, and Ginny was looking at him soulfully with her eyes wide and her sooty, coal black eyelashes long and vibrant against her pale skin.

"So you'll come?" she smiled at him, and it was such a beautiful smile that he couldn't bear to be the cause of stopping it – he nodded, and was relieved when her smile grew even brighter, and he reached out and took her hand.

"Anything for you, my dear." He brushed his lips against her achingly soft knuckles and was gratified to see her shiver.

When the elevator stopped, the air temperature went down several degrees, and as they stepped into the quiet Atrium, he couldn't see anyone around except the poor, overworked clerk at the security desk. The two Weasley's were making their way to the floo places, but he stopped them in the middle of the hall and whipped out his wand. He saw Ron's eyes widen as the redhead yanked his wand clumsily from his own robes as well, but Draco only smirked at him and continued with what he was doing. He conjured a bouquet of daisies and a pink ribbon and tied it around the stems, after pulling one from the bundle and handing it to Ginny. She blushed.

"Why daisies?"

"Do you know daisies have magical properties?" Draco asked her. She shook her head. "Daisies promote friendship and joy when they are given as a gift."

"Oh," she said, and then she laughed. Before Draco even knew what she was doing she was hugging him, and her soft, pillowy lips were pressed firmly against his jawbone.

He would have to give out more daisies in the future.

Ron, whom he could see over Ginny's scarlet hair, was visibly looking ill now, and Draco whispered in Ginny's ear. "Are you quite sure that your brother is alright?" She turned around in his arms (he wasn't quite willing to let go yet – he discovered that the rest of her was quite soft too) and giggled.

"Ron, I'm sorry. I forgot all about you!" She pulled her wand from her purse and waved it at him. "Finite," she said, and suddenly Ron was yelling something that sounded suspiciously like 'bucking fastard' and running full tilt towards them. Draco pushed Ginny aside and raised his fists, but Ron was much too fast, and his freckled, grubby knuckles connected with Draco's cheekbone before Draco could move.

He would need more daisies, indeed.

.

.

.A/N: This is the finished Chapter Six! I hope you liked it... :) I am in the middle of National Novel Writing Month again, so my time for fanfic writing is limited. But I promise that Chapter Thirteen is coming soon, and I have completed Chapter Four of Revenge, I just have to get around to posting it. Thanks for reading, everyone! Review!

-Alex. :)


	7. Chapter 7

Draco was knocked backwards by the force of Ron's punch. The other man was standing a few feet in front of him, breathing heavily. He had his arms akimbo, no wand in view. Once Draco had him within his sights from beneath his now mussed up blonde hair, he charged, ramming his shoulder into Ron's chest, who staggered and fell to the floor.

Vaguely Draco heard Ginny scream at them, before his skull was pounded, distracting him a little bit with stars twinkling before his eyes. He had barely registered the fact that Ron had punched his head above his ear, when he was blown backwards at the force of a spell the likes of which he had never seen before. He crashed into a wall, and fell to the floor.

He pulled himself to his feet, using the hard marble wall for support; and he saw Ginny, her arms outstretched, a palm facing each of them, with great blue spheres of light swirling in each one. A force field of some kind, he guessed.

"When I say, stop, I mean STOP!" She screamed at them. Draco heard her, it was hard not to, but was too focussed on her appearance to notice.

She looked like she was a breathing ball of energy. Her hair was crackling with electricity, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were black, shooting them with such intensity, it was hard to look at her for very long. He suddenly felt like a small boy who'd been caught stealing sweets, and lowered his gaze to look at the floor.

"Now," she said quietly, having their attention once more. Her voice had a distinct hint of steel, and Draco flinched involuntarily. "You will apologise, and shake hands like civilized men. Then we will go to the Burrow. Is that clear?" Both men nodded somberly.

Draco met Ron halfway, and shook the other man's hand firmly, not wincing in the slightest when Ron attempted to crush his hand with his own.

"I apologise," Draco said pompously, sliding back into his old persona with ease.

"Accepted." Ron said. Ginny gave an impatient cough. Ron rolled his eyes, and said "And I'm sorry for denting your ego."

"No harm done," Draco said, grinning.

"Alright lets go." Ron flung Draco's hand away and turned to Ginny, who was watching them with an expression akin to exasperation.

Draco summoned the roses and followed Ginny.

Ginny had a knack for attracting attention. Just like the week previously, her outburst was watched closely; again with amusement.

Narcissa Malfoy's thoughts were rampaging through her mind in endless circles. She had heard Lucius muttering angrily to himself about the 'Red-headed-blood-traitor', refusing to acknowledge that she could in fact be a good thing. Narcissa strongly suspected that if Lucius met her in person, he would like her. He had respect for people with enough courage to stand up to a Malfoy, within reason. This girl had that and more. Few people that she had heard of had stood up to Lucius, and to see this young woman manipulate her son so skillfully that he hadn't noticed yet (he usually noticed), made her laugh.

Oh her proud son was in trouble with this fiery girl, of that she was certain. And Narcissa would do absoloutly nothing to save him.

Ginny was trying valiantly not to laugh. The expressions of matching mutiny of both of the men's faces were so childish, she was having an extremely difficult time hiding her amusement. Both proud men, both looking about five.

She had a strong suspicion that Draco had been lying to her about the date. He had seemed too hurt by her forgetfulness, and that wasnt like him at all. So in return for his attempted manipulation, she had some fun herself. The only difference was, hers had gone unnoticed.

She had a few reasons for inviting him. What she had told Ron was true, it would do Draco a world of good to see the world outside his protective shell. He had some strange idea that they were all barbarians, and lived in some sort of hole. His father probably told him that it was indeed a _burrow_. In fact, their home was quite comfortable. It may not have looked conventional with its many teired roof and the seemingly random ensemble of rooms jutting out at odd angles, but it had quite enough room for all of their collective families plus guests. He would be surprised.

The second reason, was that she wanted to see if he really was the gentleman that he had led her to believe. If he did well with her family's inevitable hostility, she would know that he was a keeper. She realized that she was getting a bit ahead of herself, he had never actually made his intentions known, but she didn't care. It did a girl a world of good to dream a little bit.

When they reached the burrow, Draco was impressed. He knew that he wouldn't find the hovel his father had described, he knew his father too well for that. But what he did find proved that the Weasley's were resourceful with their meagre income. Brilliant actually.

He found what looked like it would have originally been a comfortably sized cottage, but over the years, rooms and floors had been added. He found he rather liked the visual cocophony it produced. It looked far more welcoming than the cold Malfoy Manor.

He walked in bravely, talking to himself. _Whatever they do, I'll live. I will get through this,_ he told himself over and over. He squashed all traces of the pompous Malfoy mannerisms into a tiny corner in his brain, knowing that they wouldn't do him any good. In all truthfulness they would probably get him killed. The entire clan fell silent when he came through the door.

"Ginny dear, introduce us to your friend!" Mrs. Weasley broke the silence warmly.

"Everyone, this is Draco Malfoy." She said loudly, so that everyone could hear her. "Be nice," she added warningly.

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley turned red. "What do you think we're going to do? Serve him for dinner?" She looked at Draco appraisingly, as if she was testing to see if he would actually feed anyone. Draco blushed under her stare. "So pale! And skinny! Come dear, dinner is in the kitchen. Come on you lot, no need to wait any longer." She ushered them all into the kitchen, where a mouth watering array of food was laid out.

The rest of the Weasleys rushed in a mad dash to what Draco assumed were their regular seats. He was made a place in between Ginny, and an older man who he assumed to be her father. Draco wasn't sure wether or not he should be worried.

The food was delicious. It rivalled the world renowned feasts that Hogwarts was home to in both taste _and_ amount.

"So, Mr. Malfoy," the man beside him asked. "What are your intentions with my daughter?"

The entire table fell silent. Both Draco and Ginny (who had apparently been listening closely) choked on their food. But where Draco choked out of mortification, Ginny choked out of amusement. Draco shot her a glare.

"Dig yourself out of that one, Draco," Ginny whispered.

Draco grinned widely, looking quite goofy, and turned back to Mr. Weasley.

"_Marrriage_," he announced loudly, for everyone to hear.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter eight

Happily Ever After

If Ginny had ever before wondered how fast the emotions in a room could change, Draco's comment answered her with alarming alacrity. The entire room went from an oddly strained silence to a furious uproar within seconds. About the time in which Draco Malfoy was punched in the jaw for the second time that day. He flew backwards off the bench so fast Ginny almost missed it.

Ron was standing on the other side of the table, his chair flipped over behind him, his face an ugly shade of fuchsia that clashed horribly with his hair. All around him the various members of the Weasley family were clamoring to get at Draco. Molly was spouting tears of happiness at one end of the table, and the wives of Ginny's older brothers were staring at the crumpled heap of Draco on the floor with agog expressions identically marring each of their faces. Ginny couldn't breath.

Percy was the only member of the family capable of acting rationally, mainly due to his complete and utter lack of compassion for anything other than his thin bottomed cauldrons. He crouched down near Draco's head and slapped his cheek to wake him up. But Ron's punch had done its job and knocked Draco out cold. Percy grumbled about the undignified manner of his family, and magicked Draco to the couch in the living room, where he unceremoniously sent a jet of freezing cold water into the general area of the younger mans face. Draco came to quickly.

Ginny wandered in a haze to the living room, not really hearing the clamoring voices of her family, focusing on Draco's last words. 'Marriage'. Such a simple word, yet capable of bringing an entire family to its knees, causing such a disruption that Molly's succulent dinner went unnoticed for the first time since, well, a very long time. The last time Ginny could remember anything at all distracting her family from their food was when Professor Snape abruptly descended on the house in his pajamas, proclaiming his intent to marry Lupin's sister, Hyacinth. But that was at least four years ago.

Her family parted for her with vicious glances towards the still sputtering and wet man lying on the couch. She asked them to leave her alone with Draco for a few moments, and all but Ron sighed angrily and trouped back to the kitchen. Ron, however, staunchly stood his ground, folding his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes at her.

"Please, Ron?" she pleaded quietly. He hardened his gaze, and set his feet firmly on the floor, creating a seemingly immovable barrier between her and Draco with his body. She sighed to herself and marched resolutely up to Ron. In a matter of seconds, she had him on the floor with his hands covering his nose as he cried out in agony.

"I asked nicely, didnt I?" she yelled at him. He glared at her and tried to stand up. The rest of the family came running in, wands drawn, fully expecting Draco to have attacked one of their own. At the sight of Ginny, however, standing with her legs braced and her fists clenched, they groaned and carried Ron out. She narrowed her eyes and set her shoulders as she rounded on Draco. Who was looking at her with wide-eyed wonder.

"That's not very nice you know," she told him. "You shouldn't play with people like that."

"Who was I playing with? I wasn't playing anyone!" he replied with such a sincere look of confusion written across his face she believed him instantly.

"Well then, what the hell was that about? 'Marriage!'" she mimicked. "You can't joke around with my family like that! This is what happens!"

"I wasn't joking!"

She gave him a look of extreme disbelief. He pressed on.

"I understand that it's a bit early, but I do like you. A helluva lot more than all those other bimbo's."

She stared at him. "Y-you wanna marry me?" she stammered, all traces of her elegance gone.

"Well, I am dating you, isn't marriage where dating usually leads?"

"Well, yes, but after one week?"

"A week and a half. Don't sell me up short."

She snorted and regained her senses. This was exactly what she was dreaming about, but not quite at the same time. His nonchalant assumption of her desire to become Mrs. Malfoy was a bit much to handle. Especially when she was tired and still hungry. They hadn't exactly gotten to eat much before all chaos ensued.

"What's the difference? A week, a week and a half! Its still not enough time to decide to want to spend the rest of your life with someone! It takes a couple of months for that! Doesn't it?"

"I don't know, I've never been married have I?" His face broke into a self-assured grin.

"Don't you smirk at me! Why would you even want to marry me? I'm poor! And a blood-traitor! And a Weasley!"

"Hey!" someone yelled from the kitchen. Ginny turned around and hollered back at them.

"Stop eavesdropping, you great lout!"

"Just say you'll marry him already!" Her mother yelled from the landing. She sat down on the couch beside Draco and buried her face in her hands.

"Hey, don't be so upset," Draco murmured from beside her. His strong arm snaked around her shoulders and squeezed gently. She leaned into him, and spoke quietly.

"You're going to have to prove to me that being your wife is all I want. And you're going to have to be creative. Jewels and money mean nothing to me. Prove that you can keep me happy, and I'll marry you. You have one month."

She looked up at him and smiled. She had complete faith in his ability to charm her, but making her fall in love with him was a bit harder to imagine.

He looked down at his future wife with pride. He had no doubt that he could sweep her off her feet. She already liked him, and that was a start wasn't it? He would need some help though. He wasn't superhuman. He would need to call in some heavy duty reinforcements to make this beautiful woman his. He would need his mother.

"That's more than I need, darling," he whispered in her ear. He felt her shiver against his arm, and he grinned suavely to himself. He dropped a sweet kiss on her pert little nose and told her that he had to go.

"That's not making a very good start, you know." She informed him solemnly.

"I know, but you'll forget all about this one indiscretion later."

He rose from his place on the couch beside her and went back to the kitchen, leaving her confused in the living room. Draco took Mrs. Weasley's hand and pressed his lips gently to the knuckles, causing the older woman to giggle; much to the disgust of her sons.

"Thank you ever so much for the wonderful supper, madam. 'Tis my deepest regret that I will not be able to finish it." He looked up at her from his bowed position. She glowed with happiness, and curtsied for him as if she were a young miss again.

"Will you be returning soon?" she asked him, a deeper meaning obviously slipped in. He smiled.

"You may count on it."

He left the house with a flourish, and went directly home to the manor. He found his mother in her parlor penning some letter to one of her many friends. She rose to greet him, and he filled her in on the details of his situation with the youngest Weasley. She was, as he expected, delighted and full of ideas.

"Well obviously you must romance her! Oh dear, I'm so happy for you. I am sure you will make her very happy," she said with tears filling her crystal blue eyes. He raised his eyebrow. Emotion? Fror his mother? His extremely Malfoy mother? Was the world at an end? "Oh, do shut up, Draco, I have been waiting for you to find someone for ages!"

"But she's a Weasley, you don't care?"

"She's a pureblood, what does it matter? Does it matter to you?"

"No. Not at all."

"Well then, don't be so surprised. We have to start planning. Pay attention."

They planned out the romancing of the future Lady Malfoy into the wee hours of the night; until they had every detail thought out. Each day had a surprise.

Ginny Weasley would never know what hit her. She would be his. Draco knew it, deep in his bones, where his most powerful instincts roared to life. She didn't stand a chance.


	9. Chapter 9

Under the cover of darkness has long been the best time to go about breaking the rules

Under the cover of darkness has long been the best time to go about breaking the rules. Something about the darkness inspires corrupt and nefarious actions. Maybe it is the inherent danger that comes along with running around with no light. After all, the chances of injury increase exponentially when you can not see where you are going. Or maybe it is the thrill of being awake and active as the rest of the world lay tucked in their beds. Or maybe, it is just that in order to accomplish some long standing goal, you must work tirelessly through the night.

The last reason was precisely why Draco Malfoy, heir to a vast fortune, and winner of witch weekly's 'most eligible bachelor' award since he graduated from Hogwarts, was dressed all in black, cursing his way through the window of his girlfriend's flat.

"Jewels mean nothing to me," he muttered sarcastically under his breath. "But breaking your neck on the other hand, will prove to me your devotion!" He scoffed as quietly as he could, and tumbled through the partially opened window with a dull thud, his duffle bag landing beside him. He grumbled and got to his feet silently, listening for any sounds coming from Ginny's bedroom. Not hearing any, which he took to be a good sign, he unzipped the duffel bag and began pulling out objects and placing them on the coffee table. Once the bag was empty, he banished it back to the manor with a flick of his wand.

In the next hour, he moved as quietly and quickly as possible, setting up what every woman dreamed of waking up to. When he was finished, he smiled happily at his surroundings, and crawled back out the window. Ginny would marry him for sure.

When Ginny Weasley awoke the next morning, her mind was so overtired and overworked that all she could really process was that her room was nowhere to be found.

She was in some other dimension perhaps, because she could see the basic outline of her things, but they were so disguised and hidden that she almost couldn't spot them at all.

She knew for sure, however, that her flat had not looked like this when she went to sleep.

Ginny sat up in bed, sending a handful of rose petals fluttering to the- floor? Was it a floor? It looked an awful lot like a _forest _floor. Her eyes widened as she breathed in the deep woodsy scent.

Oh dear.

Her eyes went to the rest of the room. Her walls, once a light yellow, were now a mass of deep green vines and leaves. The beautiful hardwood floor was now a cool grassy patch of forest, complete with wildflowers and a-a _squirrel?_ Where her dresser once was, there was now a tree stump. And on top of the dresser, sat the cutest little furry animal she had ever seen. His nose twitched at a furious pace, and his big brown eyes looked at her inquisitively.

"How did you get in here?"

The squirrel cocked its head to one side. Her heart melted a little bit. She held her hand out and the squirrel jumped onto the bed, crawling up the post until he sat above her, looking down into her empty hand. He didn't look impressed.

Ginny smiled and threw her covers back, sending more rose petals fluttering to the floor. She had to think hard about where the door was, and eventually found it at the base of a rather large tree, with a large wooden knot for the handle. She pushed it open and stepped into an entirely different world altogether.

Her living room was some sort of Arabian palace. Her couches had been replaced with burgundy pillows, her walls turned into silk sheets that billowed softly in the breeze coming from the desert beyond. The sun was shining softly through the silk, illuminating the entire room with an orange haze. She sighed. Wow.

She was excited to see the kitchen.

After pushing her way through a flap in her wall, she stepped into Greece.

Greece.

As in, Greece. Where she had always dreamed of traveling. Her walls had transformed into a beach hut, with the same appliances. She looked out the window and smelled the sea, saw white beaches, and was so overwhelmed she had to sit down. On her little table was a letter. With lightly trembling hands she opened it, and began to read, her lips forming the words. The little squirrel, who had followed her from her wooded bedroom, sat across from her on the table watching her.

_Dearest Ginevra; _it began.

_After I left you last night, I called a meeting with my mother, and explained to her that I had been given one month to make you mine. My mother, being the woman that she is, was thrilled with the prospect of having you for a daughter, and urged me to make your wishes come true. And so, I have embarked upon a quest. Before the end of the month, I hope to have proved myself worthy of you, and to have granted some of your wildest dreams._

_And so I did research. I asked some of your less prejudiced friends to help me. They have given me a list of the things you most desire. I am not simply throwing my wealth around, Ginevra. I made a vow to myself that I would not spend a penny in trying to win you. I know it is not what you want, and what you want is very important to me. The rooms in which you stand are real. You can explore the Amazon of Brazil to your hearts content, while at the same time you are granted complete safety from danger as you sleep and explore. You can watch the sunset in the Sahara from the comfort of your tent, and wander outside as well. There is a camel awaiting you around the corner there. And in Greece, you can swim in the oceans or ride along the beach as often as you want to. You can visit the town and the people, and leave as often as you want. The worlds will not separate themselves from your flat unless you want them to. When you tire of them, you can chose a new place to explore. All you must do is chant the name of the place before you sleep seven times. You will wake up there. _

_I do hope you make good use of this gift. Take your friends, explore, and learn about your dream places. _

_You will have another surprise tomorrow._

_Love from,_

_Draco._


	10. Chapter 10

Happily Ever After, Chapter Ten

Happily Ever After, Chapter Ten

By mynewgenesis

AKA Alexandra Proppe

Ginny Weasley was the new, proud owner of the Amazon. And the Sahara. And quite possibly a large chunk of Greece. All of which were conveniently situated in her tiny flat in muggle London. Life, it seemed, was finally heading in the right direction.

Of course, Ginny Weasley was not a girl who was inclined to live in a fluffy fantasy land, filled with happiness and rainbows, and tiny puppies; a place filled with promises of true love and everlasting devotion; a place where, once the words 'I love you' were spoken, a tie so powerful that it could not be undone by any human force is forged. Ginny Weasley was a smart girl who lived in reality.

She understood that promises that are uttered by a human mouth are not iron clad in the least. Ginny Weasley did not have any false hopes and pipe dreams that involved a man loving her forever, never looking at another woman with anything other than a passing disdain in his eyes, and she definitely did not believe in true love.

You might say Ginny Weasley is a bit of a cynic. If you think so, you would be right. Ginny Weasley was an embittered, scorned woman, who would never place her tightly wound up heart in the hands of some man, only for him to shatter it, and then leave it to blow in the wind. Ginny Weasley, was very well protected. She would never, ever let herself be won over with silly promises and gifts. She required something of more caliber. Something, or someone, that was fast proving to come in the shape of one Draco Malfoy.

Ginny Weasley, was falling in Love. Ginny Weasley was scared. Witless.

And what is a girl to do, when such fears take over rational thought? What is a girl to do when she is perilously close to losing her grip on reality, and turning her back on all that she believes to be true? What is a girl to do, when she believes herself to be falling for a man who literally gave her the world? Well, that woman, would call her best friend. The best friend who offers the most highly sought after advice, and whose maturity leaves little to be desired, and who, in Ginny Weasley's case, was her sister-in-law, Hermione Weasley.

"Hermione," Ginny called through the fireplace, her deliriously confused and anxious voice floating through the warm wooden interior of the other woman's home. Hermione ran down the stairs, her slender form leaving little noise on the echoing floor, and skidded to a halt before the hearth.

"What is it? What's the matter?" she asked breathlessly. Ginny guiltily realized that Hermione was dripping wet, wrapped only loosely in a towel, and had bits of shampoo still in her hair.

"Sorry, I made you get out of the shower," she said, biting her lip.

"It's alright. What happened?"

"Umm, can you come over, once you're dry?"

"What? Why?" Hermione's milky white forehead creased with confusion.

"There's something you'll really want to see." Ginny said, the beginnings of a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. Hermione nodded slowly, and agreed.

"Good, and bring your bathing suit."

A quarter of an hour later, Hermione stood in what had once been the entrance to Ginny's flat, but was now a tent flap blowing in the wind, with her mouth wide open. The smell of incense and spices reached her nose, making her realize that the scene in front of her was in fact real, and that it was not just some illusion that had been superbly crafted. Ginny appeared on the other side of the tent, a stark contrast in her cotton white sun dress, to the old fashioned sheik temple that surrounded her.

"Isn't it great?" Ginny said impishly. Hermione could only nod.

"Last night at supper, when Draco announced that he was going to marry me, I gave him a condition."

"You're engaged? I thought you said no!" Hermione's brown eyes widened.

"Not quite. I gave him one month to prove that he was the one for me. I had no idea he would take it so seriously!"

"This was his idea?"

"He _did _it. Last night, while I was sleeping. We're in the Sahara right now. Not in London. This is actually the desert."

Now, for such a brilliant witch, Hermione didn't take to shock very well. Having stepped out of one world and into another without even realizing it, her mind was running in circles, confusing her, and making her speechless. Ginny had absoloutely no pity, and grabbed the older girl's hand. Leading her to the flap she had come out of. Again, Hermione was in a place that was completely different.

The bright sun lit up the kitchen, catching them both in its rays, and overloading Hermione with sensory information that her brain was not ready to process. She sank to the ground, holding her heart, trying frantically to slow the thoughts in her head and sort them into some recognizable order.

"Here, sit in the chair. Read the letter. It will make sense. Believe me, it was even worse waking up in the Amazon."

"_Amazon?_" Hermione echoed faintly.

"Yep. I'll show you that later. Here's the letter."

Hermione took the paper with lightly shaking hands, and read it quietly to herself. Her heart, which had been hardened towards the pompous man, was slowly but surely melting, forming a puddle in the recesses of her chest, unable to hate the man after his so carefully thought out words had wormed their way in. A slight tinge of jealousy swirled there as well. Of course she was married, and very happy with the arrangement, but when was the last time her husband had been so romantically inclined? When was the last time she had felt the thrill of being pursued, or the delight found in the shining light of love? Hermione loved her husband, but in comparison to Draco Malfoy, her own love life seemed dry.

"It's beautiful, Ginny, you're a lucky girl."

"Yes, I know. That's why I don't trust it."

"What?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"It's too good to be true. And experience has taught me that if something seems like it can't be real, it probably isn't. I can't allow myself to believe that he is completely sincere, and that there is no hidden meaning in this. There's no way."

"Ginny," Hermione said gently, "sometime life just smiles at you and gives you something good. You can't just throw it away based on petty suspicions. Weather it out. Time will tell."

"But Hermione, it's too late, I'm already falling for him. If it turns out that I was right, it's going to be that much worse when he leaves!"

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione said. "Just believe me. Try it. Protect your heart, but let him in once you know he's sincere."

Ginny nodded, and changed the subject, so as not to make it more awkward. "Do you want to go swimming now?"

"Sure."

"Come with me," Ginny said brightly, back to her usual self already.

Ginny led Hermione through an old white washed door, down a narrow set of stone steps, and across a white patio, to the cedar deck lined with reclining chairs, a shower, and a change room. They quickly stripped down to their bikini's and raced each other to the beach, flinging themselves with wild abandon into the gently crashing waves.

As the waves pounded against their backs, their heads cleared and returned to their normal thought capacity, calming the both of them in one swipe. Ginny was her normal witty self within moments, and Hermione returned to her bubbly state in the same time.

Any stranger would have assumed that it was Ginny who was the sidekick, due to both her younger age and Hermione's now famous work in the downfall of Voldemort. One would assume, naturally, that since Ginny hadn't had much to do in the war other than support Harry in his fighting, she would be a quiet, soft spoken girl who would happily follow Hermione around everywhere like a puppy. But any onlooker, would be wrong.

Ginny's fiery spirit, and her brilliant sense of humor turned her into the leader, and it was in fact, Hermione, who relegated herself to the position of Sidekick. And both were just fine with the situation. Ginny would get the both of them into loads of trouble concerning men and jobs and shopping and life in general, and Hermione would gladly follow Ginny to the ends of the earth, delighting in the distraction Ginny provided from dark thoughts and memories. Ginny was Hermione's salvation.

To any onlooker, Ginny Weasley would have been superior to her sister-in-law in every respect other than brains. Ginny's almond eyes sparkled with vivacious laughter, and her high slanting cheekbones gave her the exotic look that none could hope to copy. Ginny had a pouting mouth that many women spent thousands of galleons trying desperately to imitate. And her milky skin with its light dusting of freckles, contrasting with her flaming scarlet hair, which could not be reproduced, no matter how much dye was used, by even the most talented professionals, made even hardened old women sigh with envy. Ginny Weasley was a goddess.

In comparison, Hermione, even though she was quite pretty with her lightly tanned skin and pert nose, looked like a child. Her luscious curves looked distinctly chubby next to Ginny's svelte figure. Hermione's petite frame was lost beside Ginny's long legs and her flat belly. And Hermione liked it that way.

After years of being the famous Hermione Granger, she found that the anonymity of being the scandalously beautiful Ginny suited her perfectly.

The two women were relaxing on the beach, lying on their backs with their legs propped up and drinking smoothies, when a long shadow stretched over their chests, blocking the sun.

"Good afternoon, ladies, how are you this fine day?"

Ginny shrieked and scrambled to her feet as fast as she could, launching herself at the intrusion. Hermione looked up at the man, but the sun was behind his head, casting his face into darkness. She couldn't tell who it was.

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" Ginny squealed.

Oh. Draco.

"You're welcome, Ginevra," he said. Hermione heard the way he said Ginevra and sighed with envy. George never sounded like that. He called her _Herm_.

"Do you know, Ginevra," he went on, "I got lost in the Amazon searching for you?"

"Oh dear. I'm sorry, the flaps in the tent are awful confusing, aren't they? I practically need to put out maps." She said with a grin.

"Yes, i think you should." He pulled his white cotton shirt over his head, revealing bronzed muscles and perfect physique. Hermione had to look away, remembering that she was married. But then he addressed her and she had to look back at him, studiously pointing her gaze only at his light eyes and nowhere else as she got to her feet.

As she stood, she felt self conscious for the first time all day, covering her slightly pudgy baby weight and almost invisible stretch marks with her arms.

"Hello, Miss Granger, how are you?"

"Oh, erm," she started.

"It's Mrs Weasley now," Ginny interrupted.

"Oh? I'm terrible sorry. Which young Weasley was lucky enough to win such a ravishing young woman?"

Hermione blushed deeply, and relpied quietly, feeling quite out of her element. "George, Mr. Malfoy."

"Congratulations, Mrs. Weasley." He smiled warmly at her. "But please, call me Draco."

"Only if you call me Hermione," she said less shyly, his wonderful charm putting her at ease. This was _not _the Draco she remembered.

"Now, ladies, how about a swim?" He grinned suavely. Hermione opted out, and Ginny was about to say she'd had enough of the water for one day, but she was rudely cut off when Draco's muscular arm scooped her off the sand in one swoop, and he raced with her to the water. When he was thigh deep, he dropped her unceremoniously into the water, cutting her squealing short. Her sputtered, and did her very best to push Draco into the water. Of course, Draco wasn't moving anywhere, and Hermione settled herself in the sand, content to watch the happy couple.

Down the beach, far enough away that she was unrecognizable to those whom she watched, and angelically beautiful Narcissa Malfoy grinned in spite of herself as she looked through her binoculars at the couple.

Her tailored white bathing suit clung to her in all the right places, drawing many admiring and lustful eyes to her still flawless figure, but she paid them no attention. Her matchmaking skills were distracting her to the point that all else faded to the background. She would not be distracted.

Watching her only son fall in love for the first time was so much more fulfilling than the pleasure derived from being admired.


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Ginny received a letter from Draco's sleek black owl while she was peeling a ripe mango for breakfast, dressed in her fluffy white bathrobe. After Hermione and Draco had left the night before, she had wandered down the beach a little ways, and had found an affordable fruit stand with the most scrumptious fruit she had ever seen. She set down her knife and popped a piece of the fruit into her mouth before wiping her hands on a tea towel and opening the letter with her long and nimble fingers.

_Dearest Ginevra, _it read.

_Today will be the occasion of your third surprise. I have already spoken to your boss, and he has given you the rest of the month off with full pay. He is, coincidentally, an old acquaintance of my father's, and with the promise of being let back into the Malfoy sphere of influence, he was very happy to help me. Do not count this as throwing my power around, Ginevra. Truthfully, before my father was let out of the impirius curse that kept him a death eater all those long years, he had forgotten most, if not all, of the close friendships he had held before Voldemort had taken over. Now that he is free, he is attempting to rebuild the friendships he had lost. So, in essence, your boss would have been accepted back into the fold eventually anyways. _

_But I digress. _

_Today is your third gift. Enclosed, you will find a muggle 100 pound note. Listen to your instructions before you roll your eyes and point out that this would count as money, as I know you are wont to do. This is the first part of the activity I have arranged for you today. Now, as soon as you finish reading this paragraph and your eyes rake in the period at the end of it, another piece of parchment will appear along with the muggle currency. Unfold it, and touch your wand to the center, and say the following incantation, which will dress you in the very best muggle clothing for your excursion. The incantation is 'mugleaus clotianum'. And go._

Sure enough, as she read 'And Go.' another sheet of thick, expensive parchment faded into her view underneath the muggle currency that she had placed on the table. It had her name on the front. She unfolded it and placed the tip of her wand in the center of the sheet and spoke the words. Instantly, her bathrobe disappeared, and she was wearing clothes that were perfectly tailored to her body. A pair of supple, suede, light brown boots, with heels at least three inches high; dark blue jeans that clung to her skin like glue and tucked into the boots; and a plain, but obviously expensive black tank top lay against her skin on her top half, displaying a fair amount of cleavage and emphasizing her flat belly; over the tank top was a dark brown dress shirt that was only buttoned on two holes directly under her breasts, and rolled up to just under her elbows. Then, folded neatly over her arm was a tan colored jacket and a black scarf. She shook her head wryly. Draco had outdone himself. As soon as she was done admiring the clothes, the letter sprouted more writing.

_Dearest Ginevra,_

_Now that you are dressed, here is your next task. You have to go into muggle London and spend the money. But, you have to find the store in which I have hidden your next clue in order to spend it. Please ready yourself for leaving now, and when you are ready, tap the bottom left corner of this sheet three times. Your clue will appear there. For the sake of time, and possibility, if you speak the answer you believe to be true, the clue will tell you whether you are right or wrong. Good luck, love._

She grinned. Now this, she could get used to. Her father used to set up elaborate scavenger hunts for her on holidays, and she would have to solve all of the clues in order to get her Christmas or easter presents.

She touched her hair and grimaced when she felt the straw like texture. She would need a shower before she could take to the streets in such fantastic clothes. She carefully removed all of the layers and placed them folded on her chair, and found her bathrobe lying on the floor a few feet behind her. Making her way from Greece, through the Sahara desert, and into Brazil, she followed a faintly discernible trail past her forest bedroom, around the corner of a huge boulder, and into the place she used as her shower.

A large, natural pool of water flowed into a small creek that flowed downhill away from her little corner of the Amazon, and past thick vegetation and through ancient trees. On the other side of the clear blue green basin was a thirty foot high waterfall that rumbled prettily down the side of a small cliff that had tall trees on all sides, but parted for the small river that flowed gently down the stone face. She smiled as the exhilarating smell hit her nostrils and dropped her bathrobe and her wand to the ground. She climbed, naked, the stone face of the baby sized cliff, using various foot holds that had been the preferred trail of animals and small deer in her area. Once at the top, she backed up a few paces and turned to face the basin that was some distance away from her, and parallel to the clear, clean, burbling water that flowed over the side, she ran to the edge and launched herself over the edge. The fall woke her up, destroying any of the last vestiges of sleep left in her system, and she was woken even further when she hit the cold water with a splash. She arched her back under the water and resurfaced a length or two away from the point she had entered the pool.

As the sunlight peaked over the tips of the trees, rays of warm sunlight hit the waterfall and sent a rainbow through the air and the mist at the bottom. The whole effect was stunningly beautiful, and Ginny paddled on her back to the large stone ledge on the near side of the pool, where three bottles and a sponge sat in a small crevasse. She opened the bottle labeled soap and stood on another stone that was clear of slippery algae and shallowly submerged, leaving the water to come up only to her ankles. She poured a few drops onto the sponge and lathered her body with the fresh smelling soap, reveling in being clean. Once she was covered with the light pink lather, she turned back towards the pool and dove in. She swam around, not bothering to rinse and letting the flow of water do it for her, and headed back to the shallow rock. She mixed the other two bottles by pouring two large drops of each into her palm, and spread the mix through her wet hair. Once there were no strands left unsoaped, she dove back into the water and swam towards the large rock that sat under the barrage of water coming down the cliff. She hoisted herself up onto it, feeling deliciously like a mermaid, and used her fingers to spread her hair around and rinse the suds. Once she was done, she stood under the heavy flow of water that pounded on her back and head and leapt off into the clear pool, diving deep until she touched the bottom rocks with her fingertips, and tilting her head under water so that her hair streamed like a ribbon behind her.

After she had dried herself with her wand and re-donned her bathrobe, she picked her way back to the kitchen, and clothed herself, taking a few extra seconds to read the labels of the clothes. They made no sense to her, but she vaguely remembered Hermione raving about some large fashion houses that she had visited on holiday's with her parents, and they matched what she was reading. 'Dolce and Gabbana', 'Donna Karan,' , 'Dior', 'Givenchy', and 'Paige.'

Unconcerned, but fearful of wrecking the clearly expensive clothes, she carefully pulled them on and once she had the jacket on and the scarf wrapped artfully around her neck, she tapped the bottom of the sheet. Words faded into view, and read ' _The massacre of innocents rests on his jewish shoulders. Christmas is its famous season, and none beat it's record for largest store. London.'_

She was going to need help. It was muggle. She had forgotten. She was a pure blood wizard with absolutely no experience but for her fathers eccentric ravings, half of which, if Hermione and Harry were correct, were flat out wrong.

Hermione? He hadn't said that she couldn't ask for help.

She went to the flap in her Saharan tent that led to England, and stepped out into the London street with a new found sense of exhilaration. She was on a quest.

She walked the three streets down to the corner on which Hermione and George's apartment resided. Hermione opened the door with a gasp.

'Ginny! Where did you get those clothes? You look like a muggle!' Hermione's jaw dropped as she took in Ginny's appearance. 'Wow, you look amazing!'

'Thanks, Mione,' she grinned, 'but listen, I need some help. Draco has sent me on a quest, and I need help with a clue.'

'Does he know you're asking for help?' she asked, smiling at the thought of Draco being so creative, but concerned that she might be helping Ginny cheat.

'He never said I couldn't ask for help,' Ginny said, not saying any more than that.

'Alright, I guess. What's the clue?'

Ginny handed her the piece of parchment as she stepped inside and Hermione smiled.

'It's Harrod's.' she said, not even thinking very hard when she said it. 'That's too easy.'

Sure enough, the clue rearranged itself to read 'correct.'

'What's Harrod's?' she asked, while the clue rearrange itself yet again to read the next set of instructions.

'The largest department store in Great Britain. It was founded in the late 1800's and now even the muggle Royal family places orders there. Do you want me to come with you? To show you where it is?'

Ginny thought for a second, but shook her head. 'No, Draco has put a lot of effort into this, I don't want to get it too easy. I'm sure he has another plan for my trip there.'

Hermione smiled again and agreed with her. Draco probably did have a plan, and secretly, she hoped Ginny would learn a thing or two. 'Alright, then. But what I can give you is a map of muggle London. It will save you from having to buy one. I'll just tell you how to get there, but you can catch a cab by yourself. Yes?'

'Ok. Thank you Mione, I don't know what I would have done without you. I would be stuck with the first clue until four in the afternoon!'

'No problem, Gin.' She left to get the map and a pen, and traced the route Ginny would be taking to get to the muggle store. Ginny left feeling confident. It only took her twenty minutes to figure out how to hail a cab.

It was very new for her, going down the brightly lit stairs that led under the city, like Gringotts, but friendlier, less dangerous, and brighter. She followed the muggles, and caught a few of them pointing at her. She lifted her chin. She looked amazing. She had nothing to worry about.

The war had trained her to blend into her surroundings, and so she didn't find it very difficult copying the muggles as they collected tickets and pushed through the steel, waist height gates that moved in a circular motion. She walked with a bounce in her step, consulting the map only once to make sure she got off at the right stop. She was a tad frightened though, when a tinny voice sounded in her ear, telling her to 'watch the gap' as she got off. She jumped, but minded the gap between the train and the platform. Ginny followed the trickle of people up the stairs and into the light. Her instructions were in her hand, but she had not yet read them, fearing that she would miss her stop. She found a post to lean against, crossed her right leg over her left at the ankle, and read.

_Dearest Ginevra,_

_Good. You've found the answer. Now, I presume you are close to the entrance of Harrod's by now, or at least on your way. Once inside, you are going to find yourself a purse. It has your next clue inside one of the pockets. Don't worry, I charmed it only to appear for you, so no muggle will accidentally stumble across it. However, that doesn't help you find it. I am giving you only a vague description of the bag._

_It's black, leather, about the size of those book bags Hermione always used to carry, it has silver zippers, and five pockets. It's with the rest of the bags, so its not impossible, just difficult. Once you find it, you are to pick out things to fill it with, amounting to the 100 pounds I gave you. I don't care what you fill it with, it can be clothes, jewelry, makeup, lacy knickers..._

_Just remember to pay for what you take, and don't stick them in your bag as you shop. Muggles are quite paranoid, and I don't want to have to break you out of a muggle prison. Use one of the baskets they provide you with._

_You have exactly one hour from the moment you reach the store doors. After the hour, the clue will disappear and you'll have to forfeit. I'll know. Ready? Set? Go!_

_Good luck, love._

Now this she liked. She could do this type of scavenging. She was a born thrift shopper, and could make a galleon go a long way. She grinned with excitement and tucked the letter, along with her hands, in her jacket pockets, and walked the two blocks to the entrance of Harrod's.

She spent ten minutes racing through the store, scanning with her eyes for the womens section, where the clerk had told her the bags were. Finally, she found it, and hurried to the racks filled with bags. She narrowed her eyes so that shapes were less visible, but colors became the point of focus for her. She stood back and raked her unfocused eyes over two rows, snapping her attention to all of the dark shapes and found her prize, in the middle of the third row, hiding in plain sight. She grabbed it with glee and yanked the letter from the middle pocket.

She tucked it into her jacket. She had fifty minutes. Where to go?

She did rather like the lacy knickers idea. She smiled devilishly to herself and took off in the direction of lingerie, which she had passed on her way to the bags. There was a tall manikin in the center of the section, with the raciest underthings Ginny had ever seen.

As a rule, magical folk were very modest and conservative. They had been wearing granny panties and head to toe robes for centuries. She had been such a sensation at the Malfoy Ball because her dress had shown so much skin. Every other witch had been covering their shoulders and their backs. The wizards of the world had only just become accustomed to cleavage. Ginny had been tempting fate by baring more.

The unmentionables on the manikin were black, see through, and covered very little. Considering herself to be quite daring, she found her size on the rack, and powered through the assorted racks and marched into the change rooms.

She was shocked, in spite of herself. Good Lord, who knew that a pair of sexy underthings could make you look so dangerous? They were uncomfortable. But that could be changed with a well placed spell of two.

The black bra clearly showed every part of her perky breasts, to every advantage, somehow managing to push them up into a svelte swell and still be as thin as a piece of paper. The knickers where just as revealing, and she wrinkled her nose at the thought of the waxing she would have to undergo to wear them, but didn't really care. They were worth it. She decided impulsively that should she end up marrying Draco, she would wear these under her wedding dress. Innocent, and then suddenly... WHAM. Sex kitten.

She chuckled happily at the thought and took them off, spelling them clean and returning her muggle clothes to their place on her body. She checked the price tag. 85 pounds. Damn.

Oh well, a girl deserved a bit of excitement now and then! Who's to say they couldn't come in the form of knickers?

She left the change room and ran around the rest of the women's section, determined to spend every penny. She picked up some fancy looking makeup, some jewelry that would go with the second dress she had bought for the Ball, and a pretty looking hair clip that would go well with her scarlet locks.

But while she was standing in line at the front of Harrod's, dutifully following Draco's directives and paying for everything, she felt the pocket on the inside of her jacket where the next clue was disappear, leaving a small depression in her jacket. She had taken too long. She shouldn't have spent all that time trying eyeshadows on the back of her hand. Her heart sank, knowing that the game was over. She had just been getting started! And what did he mean he'd know that she had forfeited? She finished paying and walked slowly to the doors, planning her trip back home.

She hadn't been looking where she was going, trying to stuff her shopping bag into the leather bag that she had had to find, and ran into something very solid. She looked up, startled, and saw Draco.

'Oh!' she gasped, somewhat incoherently.

'Ginevra! My Dear, you've lost!'

'I know. I took to long. I was having fun too!'

'Well, that's alright. We can spend the day together. You were going to end up meeting me for dinner anyways. What did you buy?'

For some reason that he could not figure out, her face turned a deep shade of pink, and she swung the bag he had hidden behind her back.

'Nothing.' she said.

'Nothing?' he repeated?

'Nothing you'll see.' she said, her face returning to its normal shade of pale, and she grinned impishly at him.

Oh, God, she'd bought knickers, he thought.

And for the rest of the day they spent together, every time he looked at her, he imagined her clothing to be see through with some sexy knickers underneath.

He was a very bad date. Every time she looked at him, he would gargle his words and spit out some incomprehensible rubbish.

It was torture.

She found it hilarious.

Damn her...

_A/N: Dearest Readers (whom I adore...);_

_I seem to have had a productive vacation, which is paradoxical, i know. Oh well. Anywho, I've updated two chapters for Bringer Of Fire, and now loaded this chapter for HEA! HAHA. I hope it's okay. I had the same problem with this chapter as I did with chapters four and five of BOF, being that I had no hard copy with me while on vacation and so had to wing it, and I'm relatively sure there will be a few inconsistencies. Thats fine. I'll go back later. I already plan to edit the whole thing anyways, so its only a little bit of extra work. _

_Just looking at it now, i've realized that Gin takes a cab to the tube station. I've decided that she wanted the feel of muggle life to save myself from the embarrassment of being off my rocker._

_Love you all, leave pretty messages!_

_-Alex_


	12. Titanic

Chapter Twelve

Happily Ever After

Three days passed, and then five, and then fifteen. Just over two weeks. Half of the alotted month. Ginny looked at her calendar, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, counting out the squares with her finger. How could she possibly make up her mind in two weeks?

The coy voice that sometimes piped up in her mind told her that she may as well have made up her mind already for all the mooning she had done over the man. Speaking honestly, however, she thought a minute later, he was seriously quite dashing. Goodness, he had made her feel like a princess and had pampered her more than anyone had ever done in her life. He was charming, and sweet, and thoughtful, and -

Good grief, she really was gone, wasn't she?

How humbling to think that for all of her bluster and notions of pride, she had still fallen like a rock to his persuasions. It showed one just how in control he was, and how _out_ of control _she_ was. Pity.

She would have felt a whole lot better about her current state had he been a complete and utter arse with no chance of winning her over, ever, so that she could spurn him in a fashion the likes of which he had never experienced before. It might have deflated his oversized, pompus, annoyingly beautiful head.

She groaned into her hands. This was ridiculous. She couldn't possibly be becoming one of those stupid girls with the hearts like melted butter that oozed cheap easiness and fell for the first man with a charming smile to kiss her hand. Ginny wasn't like that! Ginny was a strong, fiercly independant woman, and she didn't need a man to make her happy!

But truthfully, it wasn't so much that he was making her happy as that she was truly enjoying herself. She was already a happy person before Draco had come along – he wasn't coming and wiping away some deep rooted anxieties and clearing her self-doubt. Ginny didn't _have _self-doubt. Ginny had the least self-esteem issues of anyone she knew, and she was proud of herself for it. Ginny was alright – she would be okay even if Draco, who she appeared to be falling fast for, decided out of the blue to take up and leave her in a rut. She would recover. She wasn't pathetic that way.

But, she couldn't deny, no matter how much she wanted to, that she wasn't just a little bit stunned by him every time he came up with something even more romantic. She was just a little bit in awe every time he swept her off her feet, again and again. He was trying so hard, and she could see just how excited he was when one of his surprises turned out to be a hit (some had not been so amazing – like his attempt at getting her to skydive. Ron had apparently told him her greatest ambition was to jump from a muggle aircraft and float through the air with nothing to soften her fall but a thin, almost see through piece of flimsy fabric, connected to her by narrow, almost invisible cords the width of fishing wire. This surprise had not gone over quite as well. She had done it, out of sheer determination not to let Draco best her, and a desire to curse Ron to the fiery pits of hell, but it was not an experience she would like to repeat).

But, as she could not deny that Draco was fast winning her, and while she also knew that she wouldn't break and shatter like finely wrought glass if he changed his mind, a part of her, and she wasn't sure how prevalent in her soul this part might end up being, was worried – worried that he might indeed leave. She might not break, not like she had when Harry had died, but she would not be perfectly alright. She would be lying to herself even to pretend that she was completely safe on that account. Draco was – Draco. And she was Ginny Weasley. And Ginny Weasley couldn't be the cold, withdrawn person she had always thought she _should_ be. Protection or no protection, her heart was exaclty what it was; warm, strong, and dependable. Ginny knew what people called her when she wasn't there - fiery, fierce, independant. And she was all of these things. Which was why, if Draco decided to drop her, she might bruise - deeply. She was flesh and blood, not ice, and she wasn't sure how she would handle it if she was no longer like she was; perfect and unmarred.

She looked at her clock. It was half past eleven in the morning, and she was due to meet Hermione for lunch at one. She left her place at her little kitchen table, now ornate and exquisitely decorated in the old French style, due to her sudden wish to escape to the French Riviera. She headed to her bedroom, which was a Carribean hut, leaves and twigs and mud and bugs, her soft mattress covered with a net. She had a mirror hanging from one of the bough's of branches and straw, and looking at it she saw that her hair had become quite bleached from all the time she had been spending in the sun, now rather more like the shade's of her brothers than her usual, deep scarlet red. Her skin had bronzed and she found that she rather liked the new look, thinking that it made her seem more exotic. It was a nice change from her usual sharply contrasting blood and snow.

There was a shower around the back of her little hut, a simple, round affair with only a platic curtain over a drain and a thin metal pole pumping the clear water onto her head.

When she was finished showering, she gathered up her underwear (_not _her racy knickers...) and changed into a classy black dress, a rather short little thing with a scoop neckline and no sleeves. It was very simple, and she like it; it was plain enough to wear to a lunch, and could be upgraded to a cocktail dress if she needed. As it were, she added a gold necklace with big pendant hanging from the bottom, a twinkling orb with detailed engraving around the edges, featuring runes and symbols that she didn't really understand. She had found it lying, quite obviously, on her pillow when she had woken three mornings earlier, and it had obviously been a gift from Draco. She had half a mind to return it, but there had been a note rolled up inside the orb, and when she touched it, the note unrolled with the most beautiful poem she had ever heard written in turquoise ink. She had been so pleasantly surprised by the note that she had completely forgotten the necklace until this morning.

It hung heavy around her neck, resting in the indent between her breasts, just above the neckline of her dress. As soon as it touched her skin, warm from sunburn, it flashed brightly and Ginny couldnt tell whether the flash was from the sun or an enchantment. But she liked it, and it was very beautiful.

She finished her makeup and hair in less than five minutes and left her little hut through a tent flap at the back of the small room, which led to her living room, which was such a comfort in the Sahara that she had kept it there. There was a great deal of enjoyment to be found in taking tea in a breeze filled tent with the sun bronze and heavy in the sky.

With a spin, she apparated out of her flat to meet Hermione.

***

"And then she got a tattoo on the twenty-second, and a nose piercing on the twenty-third."

"Damn," Blaise said, his eyes going wide. "I'd love to see that." He had never seen a real tattoo before, unless one was counting the Dark Mark. He had seen pictures of course, from some rather seedy muggle magazines, and he had been undeniably interested in how the procedure worked; also, he thought they were sexy, but that was beside his intellectual curiosity. "What did she get a tattoo of?" he asked Draco. Draco grinned.

"A dove," he said with the air of someone very knowledgable of tattooing and body work. "In white," he specified.

"Where?"

Draco turned faintly pink around his ears. Interesting. "Well, -erm, ah, she-" he choked. "On her abdomen," he said, his voice distinctly squeaky, "Just above her knicker line." His cheeks reddened. The look was odd on him, who was normally as pale as old bone and just as dry.

"I see. Did you look?" Draco retained his original pompousness in record time.

"Of course I looked," he smirked. "She _is_ my future wife, after all."

"Naturally," Blaise said, trying to sound collected, but now he was envisioning Ginny's tattoo, imagining the line of her pelvic bone, the light dent in her skin there and the gentle slope of her skin over her abdominal muscles, and there, somewhere under her navel, a tiny, perfect white bird, its wings extended in flight. His own abdomen hardened in reflex, just thinking about it. No wonder Draco was embarassed.

"And what do you have planned for tonight?" Blaise asked. It was day fifteen. Fifteen days left. Fifteen more surprises.

"We're going to see a muggle movie," Draco told him, sounding a little bit repulsed. Blaise choked.

"You're _what?_"

"We're taking in a muggle movie. Apparently, they are much like pictures but lots more of them, and they tell a story. Like a play. Or something."

"I know _that_, Draco. What movie are you seeing?"

"Some movie about a ship. I don't believe it will be too terribly interesting. It's called Titan or something. Titan? Titian. Titania? Titanic!" he grinned. "Titanic."

"Has she ever seen a muggle movie before?"

"I don't believe so. Her father said she hasn't. He seemed terribly excited about the whole thing, I offered to buy him a ticket as well, but he declined."

"Well," said Blaise doubtfully, "Good luck." Draco didn't seem to notice. He had caught sight of himself in the mirror over Blaise's cabinet, and was studiously inspecting his cheeks to check that his blush had receded completely. "Git," Blaise muttered. To have Ginny Weasley, and be so vain, and rich. It just wasn't fair.

***

Her lunch with Hermione had been a nice change of pace – fraught with giggles, snorting, and unladylike swigs of fine wine. Ginny had recieved a note in Diagon Alley, on her way to the Slug and Lettuce where she was to be meeting her friend (Draco's owl had become very adept at finding her, even when she was on the move. It was almost as if she was being watched, and at first it had freaked her right out, but she had calmed down once Draco had told her it was just that his owl was ridiculously smart, not that he was stalking her.) telling her that she was to be in for a 'special treat' tonight, and that she was to be taking in a 'muggle film'. When she told Hermione, Hermione had nearly died of laughter, screeching so loudly in a peal of mirth that the waitress had started towards them with a concerned look on her face, before she realized that Hermione was just obnoxious.

"What movie are you seeing?" asked Hermione, once she'd calmed down enough to breathe properly. Ginny wasn't sure, but when she checked the post script, she saw that Draco had indeed listed the title.

"Have you ever heard of Titanic?" Ginny asked, curiosity in her voice.

Hermione squealed again. Honestly, Ginny thought with annoyance as more patrons turned to stare. "Oh, Ginny, I'm sure you'll really like it." She smiled. "I'm not really sure about Draco though," she giggled.

"Why?" Ginny asked, dubious.

"Oh, you'll see."

***

It was the most painful three hours of life Draco had ever spent. And it was painful to know that for all of his wealth and influence, he could not bribe anyone to give his wasted hours back.

One small concession was that Ginny had seemed truly mesmerized by the whole thing, gasping and crying and sobbing into his shoulder in the end, leaving the theatre with red rimmed eyes and runny mascara.

But, other than her _enjoyment _Draco had no consolation. It made him dizzy, he hated boats because he was afraid of drowning and couldn't swim, and he really, truly despised the odious mother in the story. Even worse was all of the appreciative looks she found Ginny giving that Leonardo fellow, and the thread of jealousy he found running through his belly. On top of that, when the ridiculously thick fellow from America came on the screen, Rose's fiance, Ginny giggled and whispered 'Oh, Draco, he looks just like you!'

And after that, Draco could have cared less about thinking how pretty the Kate Winslet person was, or how annoying the soundtrack was (especially as it was stuck in his head for days), and how truly aweful it was that it was a true story; all he could think of was how the fiance looked absolutely nothing like him, and how, if he looked very closely and with half closed, squinty eyes, he could see Ginny's point.

He was never going to a muggle theatre again.

Ever.

Not even once.

"So, Draco, do you want to come with me to see that movie in the previews? I think it was called Bridget Jone's Diary!" She turned her sweet, doe eyes on him, and instantly, he forgot what he'd just told himself.

"Of course, Ginny."

It wasn't until four hours later that he wanted to hang himself from the nearest broomstick.

.

.

.

A/N: I am aware that this was a long time coming, and I am also aware that the movie timelines are probably way off. Whatever! It's okay. :) I hope you liked it! Review!

This is the poem. I am ALSO aware that this is by far not the most beautiful poem ANYONE has ever read. I made it up. There was no internet to find one. Sue me.

_Does thy will lead the sun_

_Or does the Sun lead you far_

_Dost the Shine brightly, nigh,_

_For the beauty of thine fair_

_Dost eclipse the Sun, and the Sun_

_Does shine no longer._

"and she wasn't sure how prevalent in her soul this part might end up being" - a loose reference to Twilight, "and I wasn't sure how dominant that part might be". No, I do not like Twilight.


	13. Rafting

Chapter Thirteen

"Draco, I need to ask you," Blaise said as he and his friend sat under on the veranda at the Zabini Mansion, "Are you ever going to tell Ginny about the bet?"

Draco paused in his quest to pour tea into his mouth.

"Why would I do that?" Draco asked. He sounded surprised. In all honesty, Blaise was surprised too. He had all but forgotten about their bet until that morning, when he had been attempting to remember exactly when Draco had become interested in the youngest Weasley in the first place.

Having gotten to know the girl a bit more personally than he had known her before, he knew she didn't deserve to be lied to. She was a bright, vivaciously charming woman and Blaise was sure she would make an excellent Lady Malfoy – in fact, Blaise could think of no one better, and neither could Narcissa. But the good natured bet that had started as a joke was quickly turning into a bigger and bigger problem, and soon it would turn from a little white lie into a massive behemoth of deception. The sooner Ginny knew what was going on, the better.

"She should know, Draco," Blaise said.

"Whatever for? Only you and I know, and _you _aren't going to tell her, are you? She would only get upset, and it would ruin all my hard work!" he snorted. "She doesn't need to know. It doesn't matter."

"What do you _mean _it doesn't matter! Of course it matters! You're trying to win her over, and she's falling for it, and you don't even really like her! You would _ruin_ her _life_." He slapped his thigh for emphasis.

"I _do _like her," Draco said quietly, ignoring everything else Blaise had said. Blaise choked on his tea.

"You _what?_" he demanded.

"I _do _like her!" Draco said loudly. Blaise couldn't say anything, he just sat there and gaped at him. "I do," Draco repeated, softer this time. A trace of a flush appeared high on Draco's cheekbones. "She's beautiful, and she's funny, and talented and smart, and I _do _like her!"

"Go on," Blaise urged him. Suddenly he wished he had a muggle tape recorder.

Draco threw him a dirty look but continued.

"I didn't think I would, you know. I thought I might be able to _stand _her, but I never actually thought I would _like _her. She's – she's not what I expected her to be."

Blaise knew how much it had taken for Draco to admit this, and he had a hard time keeping a proud smile off his face. But Draco wasn't done yet.

"She's not like anyone else I've ever met. When she said I wasn't allowed to spend any money on her, I thought it was just because she felt poor and didn't want me to rub jewels in her face. I thought maybe she was just being proud. But she really, truly and honestly doesn't care about any of that, and it's refreshing! And she's brave! She jumped out of one of those muggle aeroplanes, and she told me afterwards that she was terrified of heights, and that parachuting was never one of her dreams to begin with. Ron had been making fun of me when I asked what one of her dreams were. But she did it anyways, and she did it without fear. She was just determined, and she did it! And she's honest, and even though my father has always said that honest people are soft, it makes her _stronger_. She isn't like Druella, or Pansy, or Daphne... She's – she's just different. She's genuine, and she doesn't judge, and she doesn't just want to be on my arm to show off – she doesn't care if she's on my arm at all. She doesn't simper, or suck up, or have false modesty. She can hold her own with the Slytherins – dammit, she should have _been _a Slytherin. And she's witty and can take a joke and she gives as good as she gets. I - I really _do _like her." When he finished, it appeared that he realized what he'd just said, because his cheeks pinkened vividly and his eyes narrowed on him. "And if you tell anyone what I've just said, I _will_ kill you."

"Not a chance," Blaise said with false solemnity. "I swear I won't tell." He smiled at his friend. "But you really should tell her about the bet. Either tell her, or dissolve it. Trust me, I've known her longer. You left out a few of her more sparkling personality traits: she's stubborn, brilliant with hexes, and she's truly fearsome when she's angry. And believe me, Draco, if you get her angry, you will never make it back into her good graces again. Do something about the bet before it's too late. She _is_ kind and funny most of the time, I grant you, but she has a temper unlike anything I've ever seen, and if it sets off anywhere near you if she finds out that you started going out with her for a stupid bet, you won't be recovering for a long, long time."

Draco mulled this over while he finished his cup of tea. "I don't want to tell her yet. Or ever." Blaise narrowed his eyes. "It would only hurt her anyways," Draco rationalized.

"Draco, you just said that you valued her honesty... Don't you think she might value yours, as well?"

Draco looked at him, his expression changed. Blaise sighed softly to himself. His friend was the best in the world, and Blaise usually had unrepentant faith in him, whatever anyone else said be damned. Draco was a good man. Blaise knew that without doubt. Draco had rigid character standards, and the fact that he _liked _Ginny was tantamount to his giving her the ringing stamp of approval, which he very, very rarely gave to anyone. He had been raised in a strict, unloving environment, and Blaise sometimes wondered if his friend even knew what love felt like. Draco valued and esteemed his mother, but did he love her? Did he really know what it felt like to do everything for another's happiness? Draco would jump in front of a curse for his mother, but was the action bourne from duty or genuine caring?

Blaise had been best friends with Draco since before first year, but Draco was often the sort of 'closed-book' friend that baffled and confused him, even though trying to figure out the unspoken reasons behind Draco's actions often made for entertainment. Sometimes, Draco just didn't know how to move past his upbringing, his own expectations for life, and his own unyielding ideals. Draco neeeded to learn how to put another person first. How to love life, for what it was, not just think of it as an unending trial.

Blaise had great faith that Ginny might be the one to teach Draco about life; she was bright where he was dark; she was vivacious where he was stone-cold ritual; she had spark and vibrancy where Draco's own light was starting to go out.

Looking at Draco, Blaise knew that Ginny was the perfect woman for him. He knew that they would find themselves in the other and live a long and happy life together, probably with one of the happier marriages in the Pureblood society. The trick, Blaise was finding, was getting the two of them to the alter without either of them screwing it up.

Blaise might have to call in the reinforcements.

***

Ginny stared at Draco with dawning horror. No... he couldn't be serious... There was no way she could have been so stupid as to trust him... It just wasn't possible! She felt her mouth drop open slightly, and he repeated himself, thinking she hadn't heard him the first time.

"Ginny, we're going white water rafting."

"Oh my God," she said, unable to say much more. "Are you serious? Are you sure Ron didn't put you up to this? Because I really don't think-"

"This has nothing to do with Ron. This is my own idea." He peered nervously at her, a sidelong glance that she now knew meant he was afraid she would be unimpressed. He was very inept, charmingly so, at coming up with creative ideas. She knew he'd gone to her family to get a good, generally thorough background of things she'd always wanted to do, but she had the feeling that the ideas stolen from her family and friends were beginning to run out. Some of the more recent experiences were somewhat frazzling. First the nose piercing (which, if she were being honest, she loved anyways), then the Skydiving (which had been Ron's fault, obviously, but again, she hadn't had a completely unenjoyable experience. She had clenched her wand tightly the entire way down, ready to apparate at the last second if the parachute didn't work, but she had to admit... It was rather exciting. Thrilling. Breathtaking. Oh, alright, it had been marvelous. But she was still peeved.), and now this. White water rafting? He _had _to be joking...

"This – this is your idea?" she clarified. She had to be sure...

He nodded. Smirked. Smug bastard. "All my own. And before you refuse outright, might I remind you how much you loved Skydiving?" Her mouth dropped open again... She hadn't said she'd liked it at all, where on earth had he gotten the idea that she'd liked it? "You didn't curse me when you got to the ground, darling."

Oh, well, she supposed that was true. Reluctantly, she found herself nodding her head. "Alright, when are we doing this?"

Draco made a show of checking his pocket watch. "In about five minutes."

"WHAT?!"

"Come along. Here, this is for you," he said. He pulled a small box from his pocket and un-shrunk it, holding it out to her. She snatched it from him and yanked the lid open, threw the paper on the floor, and pulled out a long, snakelike piece of rubber tubing.

"Er, Draco, what is this?"

"That would be your wetsuit."

"Suit?! You mean I have to -" --she glanced doubtfully at the offending piece of 'fabric'-- "Wear this?"

"Yes." He nodded. "I have one too. It's to keep you from catching a cold. They're quite comfortable, actually. A bit tight on the, er, _regions_, but in general, its not half bad."

"So where's yours, then?" she asked waspishly, looking him up and down. He grinned at her, and then ripped off every stitch of clothing, leaving him clad in only a skin-tight, black suit that showed off every single sinuous bit of muscle, every curve, and every last bulge on his body. She gulped. And then she got jealous. "You're not wearing that."

"Why not?"

"Because every woman in London is going to see you!"

"Ah," he said, smiling at her in that suave sort of way which used to irritate her to no end but now made her feel a bit shaky in the knees. "So. Ginevra is jealous?"

"Not at all," Ginny said, lying through her teeth. "Just concerned for your general reputation."

"Well," said Draco, stepping towards her. She found herself with her face at the level of his suited chest, which left little to the imagination. She swallowed, hard. "Put yours on, and then we'll see, hm?"

Regaining her pride, she gathered up the suit in her hands and marched off to her room. Oh, he would regret this. She grinned to herself.

***

The second she stepped out of her room, he knew he'd made a mistake. His mouth dried, his throat tightened (not to mention his abdomen, which constricted of its own volition) and he could swear, the room tilted. Just a little, but enough to completely throw him off balance.

She was... there was no other word for it. She was _sexy. _Damn her, but she looked like some temptress sent by Beazelbub just to sway him. Oh, God. She pulled the second skin away from her stomach in an attempt to ease the tightness, and when it snapped back to her firm belly, Draco nearly fainted.

The svelte black dress she had been wearing when he had first been attracted to her, the hour of agony he had felt when he had been staring slavishly at her pelvis as a small, delicate bird was inked into her epidermis, and even the day the two of them had gone swimming... This wetsuit was right up at the top of the list in terms of sexiness.

And then he found himself echoing her previous statement. "You can't wear that."

And damn her to hell again, she smirked at him. "What, can't handle it?" she taunted.

He knew he had promised himself not to scare her away with physicality before their relationship had been cemented. He had _vowed _to himself, and again after he had realized, when speaking to Blaise, that he liked her, that he wouldn't treat her like any of the other women he had dallied with. She wasn't a dalliance, she was his future wife. There would be plenty of time for sexual playtime later. But bugger him if she wasn't making it damned bloody difficult.

"Sh- shall we go?" he said. He held out his hand and the contact of her skin brushing against his left him dizzy.

"Are you alright?" she asked him. Her dark eyes were peering at him from beneath bronzed skin from her new home in the Carribean and they sparkled with mischief. He nodded, ignoring the fact that she was making fun of him.

"Let's go." He squeezed her hand and disapparated.

***

"Welcome to 'White Water Rafting Wales'. This will be a trip down one of our easier rivers, which has a level of two. There will only be three patches of serious rapids, but the majority of the water will be rough and patchy. Only one part is truly dangerous, but we have never had an accident here, and I do not expect for us to ruin our record today, so never fear! First things first..."

The guide divided the group of thirty into two, and put seven people into each dingy. He himself and three other guides hauled their kayaks to the pebbled shore from the shack which housed the rest of the equipment, and as one, the party, after checking to be sure that lifejackets and helmets were properly fastened, grabbed up their paddles and hoisted their rafts into the knee deep water. Draco helped Ginny into her seat before jumping in beside her. They somehow managed to be sitting at the front, and the guide was in the back shouting instructions.

"LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, LEFT LEFTLEFTLEFT!" The exercise was fun, and the energy was intoxicating. More than once, one or both of them flew out of the raft and into the icy water, but the river was deep and there was little undertow, and so they were easily pulled back into the raft again, laughing and exhilerated. After an hour of heavy paddling, the group pulled into a shallow beach for their lunch break; their lunch had been transported on the road by vehicle.

It was simple tuna sandwhiches, but Draco was so hungry, he ate four of them. Ginny laughed at him, sopping wet, and shoved him into the river once he was done. He was about to throw her in, when the guide shouted again. "WHO'S UP FOR CLIFF JUMPING?"

Smirking at her, and clearly goading her into accepting, she huffed. "Are you going to do it, then?" She asked tartly.

"I wouldn't want to leave you here all by yourself," he said.

"Who says I'm staying here?"

"I don't know. Are you sure you're man enough to do it?" he taunted.

"Excuse me, but who of us is the one who jumped out of an Aeroplane! Some stupid little cliff isn't going to scare _me!_" She looked him up and down. "You, on the other hand..."

"Merling," Draco groaned. "You'll be the death of me, I swear."

"Gonna do it then?"

"Absolutely." He grinned.

"Race you."

"You're on."

"Go!" She took off, leaving him in the dust. Cursing, he raced after her, and just as they reached the top, he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her close to him, sending both of them tubling down to the icy water below, shrieking the whole way.

***

Narcissa had rarely seen her husband so furious. True, in all their years together, he had had plenty of occasions to be angry, but few times had she seen him work himself into a frenzy, shouting at everyone and everything without restraint or care that his generally reserved persona had just flown out the window.

"Dear, I really do think you're being a bit hard on him. And the couch."

He snarled at her from where he was busy tearing apart a pillow with his bare hands on the couch in his study. "Oh you do, do you? Well when was the last time _you _had to deal with your traitorous son going off with a blood-traitor little bint!"

She inspected her freshly manicured fingers with distaste. "I believe I _have _been dealing with it."

"_Really._" He sneered, his pale face mottled with rage. "And what have you accomplished?"

"I've arranged for the Minister's Wedding Chaplain to be free for our personal use at any time in the next three months that I happen to decide upon, I've ordered the Madame Toulerie from France to send samples for fabric and put me down for several gowns and a few wizards Dress Robes, and I've ordered the cake and the invitations. All I have left to do is meet our future in-laws and set up a date."

"You – you're _ENCOURAGING HIM?_"

"Don't be so dramatic, darling. You'll get a hernia again. And we all know how you dislike taking your potions."

"I can't believe you. That you would so flagrantly go against my wishes -"

Narcissa gave up pretending to be disinterested, suddenly very, very annoyed. "Lucius Abraxas Malfoy! If you say ONE more word against Ginny, I will feed you to the Thestrals! You are being purposefully beligerent and refusing to see what is directly in front of you! You might be content to watch your son wither and die in the cell of your making, while the rest of the world finally moves on and accepts that marriage is about more than _bloodlines_!" She stabbed her finger into his chest and was mollified to see him flinch. "She may not be rich, and she may be a blood-traitor, but she is smart and she makes Draco happy. I don't know why you married me, but you had better be damned sure you don't regret having a wife with a brain before you foist another brainless bimbo on Draco in hopes that she might bear more children. He deserves more than that, and besides, Ginny is smart, and she comes from a family of breeders. If you truly are concerned about the continuation of the Malfoy name over your son's happiness, consider that she comes from a family who traditionally have only sons. She is the first daughter in generations, and she is the wisest choice I can think of for a line that demands male heirs! Now if you are quite finished pining over your foolish rivalry with Arthur Weasley, which I know very well is the only real reason you can think of to complain about her, _I _have a wedding to arrange!"

Smirking to herself, she left him there, gaping after her like a sodden puppy. It wasn't very often that she lost her temper, her aristocratic breeding far to embedded in her personality to allower her very much freedom with her emotion, but when she did – it felt _good_.


End file.
